


The Long Night of Imtimacy

by agotjonandsansa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Battle, Blood, Character Death, Cousin Incest, Denial of Feelings, Doomed Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Hope, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Prophecy, Rape Recovery, Rejection, Rivalry, Sex, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agotjonandsansa/pseuds/agotjonandsansa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after season six, episode ten. Ramsay is still alive...for now.<br/>“It almost feels unnatural,”<br/>“What?”<br/>“Loving you.”<br/>“Why should it be? Just because they all say it is?”<br/>“Maybe, but what is natural?”<br/>“Something that’s meant to be.”<br/>Jon Snow and Sansa Stark have retaken Winterfell from the Boltons, they face many enemies far away and the ones between their relationships. As Queen Daenerys sails to Westeros, with three dragons and an army of savage fighter and trained killers, she claims alliances. A proposition is sent to Jon, Olenna Tyrell and the Sand Snakes arrive to strengthen their alliances. Sansa is waiting justice, her emotions are twisting around. A rumour is circulating the North of Jon’s true parentage, Jon and Sansa see one another differently, and it’s dangerous but they can’t let go. Cersei threatens the North, the army of the dead are rising. The more crisis building, the more snow falls to the ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I don't care if he's a bastard!"

**If you wish to skim read this section of the chapter in** _italics_ **you may as it’s not crucial to the plot. I wrote it as a starting point of my story, and as an introduction. To express how Jon may have been feeling when he resurrected.**

JON

_There was no paradise, no Gods and certainly no peace in where Jon had been whilst he was dead. He was so alone that he could feel his heartbeat and blood pulsing through his arteries. In the darkness there was no air, no breeze, and no fires to keep him warm. Only Jon. No voices of loved ones, not his father, Robb or of his mother whom he had never met. Just howling winds and scuffling of vermin curling between his toes, and in his throat. No smell of rotting flesh or old blood stained on his skin, Jon was trapped in his shell._

_The Red Woman had seemed utterly surprised when Jon told her what happened in the next life, she didn’t want to believe him. The emerald piercing eyes fell from their glow, as he told her the horrific truth. She kept repeating herself, saying “you are the prince that is promised.”_

_Jon hadn’t a care what she was mumbling, he could still feel the death lingering inside. Although he was very much alive. His throat was heavy with fatigue, his muscles, he thought would have collapsed, and they were strong but had no effort to move them. Jon was convinced in his head that he had come back as a white walker, that they hadn’t burnt his body quickly enough._

_The warmth in his heart reminded him that he was still human- but some small part of Jon had disappeared. He had questioned himself, **why am I alive?** **I shouldn’t be alive, I’m an abomination to mankind.** An awakening realisation struck his thoughts- **why did my brothers stab me?**_

_Jon had saved thousands of lives at hard home, almost considered honourable even that it was the lives of wildlings. But they weren’t just wildlings, they were men, women and children. The elderly, the sick and Jon had given them a second chance, to live peacefully south of the wall. Safe from the others, to battle the Wight’s and walkers from the night was at its darkest._

_Jon didn’t owe the nights watch anything, you serve till the day you die. And he had given that, given his life to the watch as his brothers stabbed him in the heart._

_Jon? Jon?_ “Jon?” Sansa’s voice softly demanded, shaking his thoughts. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine.” Jon rasped, his throat groggy from not speaking for a long while.

“You have been named King in the North.” She stated, but not as if he hadn’t heard the roaring chants from his newly claimed banner man. It wasn’t what Jon wanted for Winterfell, he wanted it back but not as his own. For his sister, Sansa.

“Wrongfully, you saved us and without you- I would be dead. If the Knights of the Vale hadn’t arrived, you would be dead. And I could never forgive myself for that.” Jon murmured, clutching onto his sisters hand.

“I don’t care that you are a bastard, the north doesn’t care that you are. You are my brother, you are the last son of Eddard Stark.” Sansa began, her eyes welling up in tears. “Rickon’s gone. We don’t know where Bran is, we have each other. I’m trusting you, I’m believing in you.” Sansa breathed. Jon felt like it was the most honest confession he had ever heard, his own flesh and blood finally feeling truly unashamed of his. He smiled softly at her, slowly wiping her fresh tears that were rolling down her cheeks.

“Show me how, I don’t understand how to rule?” Jon murmured.

“You were Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, you lead an army and you convinced your subjects that you are worthy of being King. I can’t tell you how, you’re already doing it right.” Sansa exclaimed. A bastard never was tutored in such subjects, if a bastard had been educated at all. Jon was luckier than most bastards, was claimed by the highest noble lord of the land, brought up alongside his siblings and learnt how to wield a sword, to read and write.

Jon’s eyes fell suddenly from all the warmth and comfort circulating the room, he was tempted to shut them completely. The day’s events left him tired and bewildered, but he spoke. “We’ll take back everything they’ve taken from us.”

“What about Ramsay?” Sansa almost choked on the vile poison of saying his name aloud. She paced around the fire at the centre of the library, where Jon and Sansa had been sitting for the past half an hour.

“He’s in chains in the kennels, I left him pretty battered up. He’s not going anywhere, anytime soon.” Jon said, gravely. Jon had an overwhelming sensation to love and protect his sister whom had been tortured, raped and humiliated. But he didn’t know how to cure her heavy pain in her heart, there were some things he could do to unburden her. Be there when she screamed during the night from a bad dream, stay with her until she fell asleep. Never let her marry for alliances, only her love and her choosing. A safe place at Winterfell, even if that meant killing every threat to her made.

“You are not to go down there, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“The longer he’s alive the more he torments me, I don’t want him to think he’s going to be all right because he’s my husband,” Sansa cried, falling to her brother’s knees.

“What did he do to you?” Jon asked. He stared longingly into her blue Tully eyes, their shine weakened as her lips parted. No words fell from them, he knew what he did, and Jon wasn’t going to now force her to say it. Jon nodded instead, the expression painted on her ivory face told a thousand terrors. “I want let anyone hurt you like that ever again.” He vowed solemnly, and kissed her forehead.

After that Jon and Sansa fell asleep, it had been a very long night. Falling asleep was the best remedy for them, Jon needed sleep the most. He was tired of fighting, tired of uncertainty, Jon needed to secure so many duties. His past was looming over his mind, memories and pain flashing through every time Jon closed his eyes. The day he left Winterfell, then the night of the Battle of Castle Black, the girl kissed by fire, the night king raising the dead with a signal of his hands. Lastly, the time he was named King in the North. So many questions, too many dead to answer them. One grave torment would remain in his head, the day he died.

A crystal white Raven had landed many leagues away from the Citadel to mark the first day of the very long winter. “It’s been winter for a long time, look at the skies!” Jon exclaimed, raising his brown eyes to watch the heavy snowflakes floating down into his leathery palms. “They say it will be the longest winter in a thousand years,” Jon claimed with a dark expression on his face. It was because he knew with a long winter of the hideous creatures that came with it.

Sansa was with him, standing on the dark wooden decking which sat on the perimeter on the Castle. They were facing the North, were the snow was falling the hardest. “As you are the King in the North, you shall guide us through to spring,” Sansa answered, with hope in her heart, but she knew the truth that came with winter.

“How long was the last winter?” Jon asked, facing his sister.

“Nine years.”

“And you know it will be hard, much harder than our father promised?” Jon looked more closely into her soft blue eyes.

“Yes I know.” She stared back down at her feet, then back into her brother’s chestnut glistening eyes.

“You’ll stand by me, like I will forever stand by you?”

“Forever.” Sansa answered hesitantly. Jon hadn’t picked up on it, he dismissed it completely like a fool. They watched the late sunrise descend on the skies, they didn’t dare look below as the masses of bodies piled up across the land, crows nesting in their rotten flesh. Funerals pyres and burials were setting place to respect the warriors whom died for the Stark’s future, Rickon had already had a private funeral down in Winterfell’s crypts. “When did you last see Arya?” Jon asked, he had a nasty stab in his heart because he knew she may well be dead.

“The day father died,” Sansa stammered, on her last words before continuing, “Brienne was the last to see her, she was dressed in boy’s clothes with a skinny sword by her side in the River lands. She was with a man, unharmed.”

_A skinny sword,_ Jon smiled to himself. The sword his little feisty sister named needle. _First lesson, stick em’ with the pointy end,_ Jon recalled the last moments of Winterfell. “She’ll hear word of us retaking Winterfell, wherever she is. She’ll come back to us.” Jon said simply. “You have.” He added, turning towards Sansa. As he knew now where he stood with Sansa and felt comfortable around her, they were never close but now it felt like reigniting an old flame. Jon was always cast away whilst the other Stark children played, although Sansa invited him back with open lovingly arms, he still felt like the bastard he was as a child. _He’s the blood of Ned Stark, I don’t care if he’s a bastard,_ he remembered Lady Lyanna Mormont’s harsh words, and they brought himself belief and courage.

“I was so terrible to her, I hope if I ever see her again, that she’ll forgive me.” Sansa lifted her eyes to meet Jon’s.

“Of course she will, your sisters. Children fight over stupid things, you’ve grown up.” Jon spoke wisely, offering his sister his arm to walk down the wooden rickety steps to the courtyard of Winterfell. The Stark banners were risen high upon the silver stones of the castle, strong enough to defend against sieges and legend says dragon fire.

A new steward boy was chasing around the courtyard rather frantically trying to find someone, he stood still right in front of Jon, taking a few quick deep breaths. “Your grace! Your grace! A Raven from King’s Landing!” The boy steward called, bending the knee. _Your grace_ was an unwanted custom to Jon, he found himself unworthy and it was overly phrased.

“Jon.” He muttered, under his breath. The steward would have only insisted on calling him, _his grace_. Jon took the letter from him, Sansa and Jon exchanged fearing looks. “Thank-you, please leave us.” The steward nodded quickly and dashed off into the stables. The letter had the sigil of house Lannister, Jon broke the wax and scrolled the letter out flat. From the moment his eyes read the first lines, he knew it was a mistake opening it. It read:

_King in the North, Bastard Snow._

_Word travels fast when you have little birds flying loose in the north, taking back your pile of shit is the last act you shall do before you die. I know you have your little whore of sister, the birds have seen her hair in the breeze. Just wait Jon Snow, you’ll see me too._

_Signed,_

_Cersei Lannister First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, protector of the Realm._

Jon took a step back and hid the note, crunched up in the palm of his hand. He wanted desperately to know who the _little birds_ were _,_ the only person he could think of was Petyr Baelish. The man who had taken a suspicious and continuing liking to Sansa, the man who took her to back home to marry a monster. Jon ground his teeth together and stormed off in hunt to find the man, “Jon? What did that letter say?” Sansa demanded, picking up her skirts and running along beside him.

The sounds of the blacksmith hammering a piece of iron, fire crackling and the winds whistling, the sound of men jesting and joking. Silence grew louder as Jon powered through the snow settled on the yard, they worked their way into the west wing of the castle. Their stood Petyr Baelish with a smug smile painted across his face, he eyes lit up immediately in hunger as they gazed at Sansa. He was standing and talking with Lord Yohn Royce, Jon halted on his heels and turned into a different direction. “Lady Sansa!” Baelish beckoned to his sister.

Jon stopped, took a glance at Sansa who gazed into her brothers eyes in defeat as she was being called to Petyr Baelish’s side. Sansa tossed her long auburn hair over her shoulders whilst she went to Littlefinger, it was as if he had an invisible tie to her, reeling her in and never letting her escape. Jon didn’t like the way he acted around her, he was an older man chasing a young women. The part of Jon which didn’t trust Sansa he had been ignoring, until this moment. Why would a man bring an entire skilled army miles from here to save the North? Jon knew only worst of the Petyr Baelish, the little boy from the fingers, loved Catelyn Stark and lost against Brandon Stark for her hand. Then he was turned brothel-keeper and Master of Coins to Joffrey Baratheon. He gave Sansa to the monsters who killed her family, Petyr Baelish was a dangerous man. What game was he playing?

 

 

 

 


	2. "Tearing us apart."

CHAPTER 2

SANSA

“We cannot keep doing this,” Sansa advised, the snow running through her bare fingers as she rose up from the glistening red-faced weirwood tree. The Godswood was a private known area where no one could hear the conversations of secret keepers, only the Gods would hear, they were open and concentrating. The bloody-faced expressions were stuck, but really they were making judgement on everything the whole of the North were talking about. “Leave Winterfell with the Knights of the Vale, and don’t come back for me.” Sansa pleaded, it wasn’t going to be easy.

Petyr Baelish’s grey stone eyes watched her like a snake before it snatches its prey, releasing the drops of venom, drawing Sansa in and further. “Sansa,” He paused. “You know how I feel about you,” He seduced, pulling her hand and caressing it which made her extremely nervous. “I want to marry you,” he pursued, falling to his knees.

“No, no you can’t, Ramsay-“Sansa started, her tear duct pricking tears.

“Is dead, long ago he died. No one knows who really got to him first, blood loss, infection or the hounds.” Petyr said freely, like a confession had finally got off his chest. It made Sansa angry, her tears weren’t going to stop falling, and the bite on her lips was going to bleed. The heavy breathing kicked in, she felt sick and sharply disappointed that she wasn’t going to ever see him suffer. Sansa wrenched her hand from his grasp and took a step back, she could have screamed in his face but instead she answered.

“Go home, take your Knights. I don’t need you anymore, if you touch me again I will have my brother cut you down. You lied to me, he’s still alive, isn’t he?” Sansa’s voice rose harder and harder into a scream. Sansa didn’t know how exactly how she still knew, it was because she could still feel him in her like a nasty affected sword pounding in her heart.

“All I ever wanted was for you to love me!” Petyr roared, but Sansa turned her back on his horror stricken face. She didn’t have time for sad, sorry and pathetic men. It was time for someone to die, her way or no way. Ramsay’s short life was ready to see the infinite darkness.

Sansa made her way into Winterfell, taking the shortcut where she would be least noticed heading to the kennels where Ramsay the bastard was being held. The hounds were barking and snarling, ramming their teeth into the solid iron bars, waiting impatiently for something or someone to eat. Sansa unlocked the cage doors into the entrance of the kennels, the hounds still snapping at the bars. “Who goes there?” The guard called from the shadows. The ferocious barking didn’t scare her like it did as a child, it made her want it even more.

“Sansa Stark.”

“You shouldn’t be down here my lady, his grace said to not let you down here.” The guard murmured, but it wasn’t the only talking she could hear.

“Am I your lady or not? Come here.” Sansa demanded, “You are going to do something for me,” She mused. The guard stood there wide eyed and hypnotised, he _would do anything for the Stark’s_ he’d say and promised not to tell a soul or the price would be heavy. Sansa slowly breathed and walked to face the bastard his chains, his face was dismantled and bloody. It already stank of dogs but Sansa realised that it was his blood that the hounds could smell, his hair was wet and thicker with more blood.

“My beautiful wife, you have finally come to release me, get it over woman.” He snapped, Ramsay’s eyes brightened with what little life and humanity remained in them. Sansa could feel the anticipation of seeing him die so exciting she wanted it to happen now, but she wanted to make it worth her while and satisfying. But it would be more than that.

“No, I haven’t. Neither have I come here to watch you rot away, if I’m going to see it. I’m going to finish you have myself.” Sansa spat.

“Our time together is about to come to an end.” Ramsay sighed, licking his lips away from the blood trickling down his chin. “That’s all right. You can’t kill me. I’m part of you now.” He laughed, spitting on the ground. Sansa unleashed her anger and threw her hands against the bars, thrashing them, riling up the hounds even more.

“Not anymore!” Sansa cried. “My face is the last face you shall ever see, even when the hounds rip your eyes out!” The hounds tore at his limbs first, biting and chewing on the poison meat from his bones. The screams were terrifying and piercing as she thundered her way out of the kennels, a smile slick across her fragile face. The agonising screams grew to melt away, the sign that the deed had been done. Sansa had practised fear for all her life, now this time she felt real power.

Sansa had acting the strong woman for quite some time now, she missed being a girl, not her ignorance as a child, but the innocence and the security she felt. The strong walls of Winterfell weren’t the same, maybe it was winter that had changed them or the people who once lived in them. She stared long and hard at the walls, but still there wasn’t any Bran climbing up them. Sansa gazed over at the wooden post where little Rickon would sit upon smiling away whilst Robb and Arya wrestled. She looked down at her feet, no direwolf to nuzzle up to her legs and behave like the Lady she was. There was definitely no Jon Snow sulking in the corner, under the disgusted look of her mother. Only the one in front of her now.

Sansa had done something bad, really bad and now she felt the girl return even more, fearful and regretful. Soon she felt like she would be begging for forgiveness, the tears were flowing more than ever. _Why do I keep crying?_ Jon didn’t ask anything, he had heard the screams and the calls from the guard. He had the coat which Sansa had made for him with the wolf sigil imprinted on the leather secured on his shoulders, his hair neat and in a bun on the back on his head. “Shh its okay, it’s okay, “Jon hushed, cradling Sansa in his chest.

It was like the sharpest skin swaying back and forth ripping through the frailest skin there ever was. Sansa had killed a man, not physical herself but the hounds. The pain and the victory of getting rid of the man who ruined her, but the parts of her left still remained. A gruesome death for a gruesome soul, _it was the only way._ The slick smile had vanished, she didn’t grieved her the sadistic one without a soul, and she grieved because she disappointed her brother. Sansa knew the guard would tell Jon, she didn’t want to believe it. “You understand why I did it, don’t you?” Sansa cried, pulling back to face him.

Jon paused, “Yes, yes.” He replied, pulling her back in. “I want us to move forward, the past is tearing us apart, we have so many enemies now.” Jon said, straightening up as Sansa gradually came away.

“You’re right,” She sniffed. “We must call the first council meeting, there is much we need to discuss.” Sansa wiped away any remaining tears. Jon nodded and agreed that they must speak about this later, not that what just happened wasn’t important, but the element of letting go of the past was to think about what was going to happen now.

Sansa was indeed horror stricken by her actions, but nothing ever felt so good to finally kill the person who murdered the innocent parts of her. She betrayed Jon, he looked past it but how many times would Jon overlook her actions? Sansa was rising and was almost untameable, she was out for revenge.

Today was her first taste.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. "Isolated."

CHAPTER 3

 

JON

The confirmation of winter sent the farmers for more crops, merchants for more furs and carpenters to cut down more trees. The courtyard at Winterfell was a blur of people, racing across the yard to and fro, horses galloping out the portcullis and into the inner castle. With the Stark banners risen high, it grew more and more to feel like home. Jon turned his glance to the archery yard, here he pictured a fond memory of his childhood: Arya and Bran competing to fire the arrow smack bang in the middle of the target. Father was laughing and even Lady Catelyn, he looked above to the balcony on the high walls where Father and Lady Catelyn would stand and watch over their Stark children. He imagined them laughing and smiling at their happy children, then Lady Catelyn glared hard into his face.

Jon shook the memory clear from his head, blacking out the parts he didn’t want to remember. He concentrated on the present, he enjoyed that Winterfell was becoming like it once was. Jon still found it incredibly daft that his lords and people would insist on calling him _your grace_ , but it felt wrong like he had taken something that wasn’t meant to be his. Sansa was their lady, he would say to them. But no she wasn’t just that. She was Princess Sansa of Winterfell.

More bannerman had been arriving at Winterfell, the Cerwyns, the Tallharts, Glover and Flints. Jon was seeing sigils of the houses he had never seen before, he knew them by name and not by sigil. He needed to learn that, he would need that in the near future. Perhaps it would be something Ser Davos could teach him, Tormund would be useless, he’d call them all _bum fucks_ for all he cared. Jon laughed to himself quietly.

Tormund Giantsbane himself, almost looked like he was marching up to Jon. He stood a foot taller than Jon and still wore his wildling furs, and carried the same slowly blunting weapons. “Snow, did you see what happened to the bastard in with the dogs?” He grunted. Jon knew alright, Sansa had been alone since. Only her ladies had been with her, she would eat and barely would drink anything and she refused any other company, even her own brother.

“No,” Jon sighed.

“Nothing to see, only dogs looking bones and choking on hair.” Tormund chuckled. Jon winced, but he knew it’s the least that Ramsay Bolton deserved. He was angry that he wasn’t the man to finish the job off himself. Those dogs would be dangerous, they fed on human flesh and once they’ve had a taste, that’s all they would ever eat. They weren’t like Ghost, they were wild dogs and needed to be put down. “Why do they still hate us?” Tormund demanded, referring to the Lords and the northern people south of the wall.

“They are weary of you, like me they will all learn that you’re not a threat. I didn’t die for wildlings and southerns not to get along.” Jon promised.

“Hmph.” Tormund grunted, not completely satisfied with Jon’s answer. The wildlings wouldn’t believe that things would change for them. “Those flouncy Lords still give us the eyes like we’re rotten meat,”

“Maybe you should dress like them,” Jon humoured. Tormund turned his nose up at that idea and Jon laughed. He swiftly nodded his head to Tormund and made his way through the southern directions of the courtyard, he stood on the balcony and overlooked the south of the North and beyond. No bodies lay this side of the fortress, it looked like a peaceful snowy meadow, but places were smudged with mud smeared for the King’s road.

Jon rested his hands on the rough silver stones of the castle, the leather gloves thick on his hands. Tightening the grasp with his fingers, he leaned forward and breathed in the crisp cold air. The deeper the breathe he took, the more he could still feel the lingering darkness inside. More of him had died when he was murdered, but Jon couldn’t put his finger on it. He wasn’t sure if he was still feeling the torture of his stabbings, or the pressure of being a King.

Numbers of questions were swarming his head, cultivating his thoughts, biting at his skin. _Why am I alive? What if Sansa had never come to me? What kind of man would I have become if I hadn’t of left Winterfell?_ Useless questions and no answers, Jon was a man and needed to stop tormenting himself with his own mind. This wasn’t about him anymore, it was about the wars to come. Cersei Lannister’s threats.

“Your grace, I wasn’t sure where I would find you. But the Knights of the Vale left during the night and Petyr Baelish.” Ser Davos Seaworth rasped. Jon wasn’t surprised, they only came for Sansa not to stay. They must have left on Sansa’s command and told Littlefinger to leave the North, he was becoming a threat to him and to his sister. Jon gazed below at the settling snow, the sun rising and the glistening trees.

Jon nodded. “I assume on my sister’s command, we don’t need them for now. When we do, my sister shall summon them to our aid.”

“The Princess, your sister is not well. Her ladies say she won’t eat and cannot sleep, you should pay her a visit.” Davos suggested.

“She refuses to see me, ever since what happened with Ramsay. He must have said something to her before he died.” Jon murmured, but something scary flickered in his head. _Sansa won’t eat, she’s sick and she hasn’t slept, does this mean she’s pregnant?_

“What about the letter from Cersei Lannister?” Davos asked, he was as worried as Jon was. But Cersei Lannister was hundreds of miles away, but she claimed herself Queen of the seven kingdoms, no news had come from how that happened. The North felt very isolated, it needed to stay in the loop to be in the fold of what was happening. They were rebelling against the crown, the Lannister army could be marching their way and they wouldn’t know.

“The Lannister’s don’t know how to fight in the snow, it’s a long way up here. I must speak with Sansa, she knows who to call, and she knows how they work. If only she will see me.” Jon sighed. “I don’t know about girls, not really, how to deal with them. The nights watch, don’t teach you those kind of things in life.” Jon confessed. Ser Davos nodded and considered what he meant by that.

“You don’t really know what to do with anything, do you?”

“I know how to fight and try to win, I can’t do the things a King can do. This wasn’t meant to be me, it was always meant to be Robb. Or Sansa now.”

“Talk with your sister, you must confide with each other. I will send riders out to search word of what’s happening in the North, you are King now and you shall learn the ways.” Ser Davos advised. Jon nodded, Davos was a fair, honest and knew so many things which Jon did not. It was frustrating because he thought he would automatically know what to do as soon as he was named King in the North, but now he had never had no much responsibility.

“I’m calling a first small council meeting at dusk, I want the head of each house, Tormund, yourself and my sister all present. I’m taking my first steps.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. "I couldn't feel anything,"

CHAPTER 4

 

SANSA

Sansa had been ignoring Jon for three days. She didn’t want to see him because she believed that he would never want her in his presence again, they shared a moment but Sansa was waiting for him to realise how horrific she had been. By Sansa’s side at all times were Mya Stone and Beth Cassel. Mya Stone, a bastard girl of the Vale whom Petyr Baelish had brought her down to Winterfell to be one of her ladies when the Knights of the Vale came down to fight at the battle of Winterfell. Mya Stone was perhaps too old to be a lady at the age of fifteen, but was a close friend to Sansa. Beth Cassel, daughter of the late Jory Cassel of the Stark’s captain of the guard. She was a girl of thirteen, three years younger than Sansa.

Both of them had been fussing and watching over Sansa like a fragile butterfly who’s had its wings ripped off its back, but it was more painful than that. Sansa never felt as though she had truly mourned her brother Rickon’s death, so she had been doing so now which had made her become ill. She was sick when she was hungry, but when she was hungry she would never eat. When it came to her bathing day, the girls stripped her off her beautiful clothes and Sansa had never looked so skinny.

“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” Mya asked suddenly, whilst combing her wet hair after Sansa had had a long hot bath. Beth Cassel gasped and told Mya off.

“No my ladies, I would know and I have been drinking moon tea.” Sansa replied. “I don’t want any rumours of me pregnant with Ramsay Bolton’s babe.”

Her ladies fell silent, they never asked what had truly happened to her. They knew what did happen, but they were afraid of asking her and thought she would fly off the handle for even asking. They had seen the bruises turn from purple and black to a soft yellow, they never commented on them or at the breaks of her skin. But they would hear her cry through the night, they would see Jon waiting outside her door until she fell asleep again, feeling she was safe.

“Your brother desperately wants to see you,” Beth started.

“No,”

“But he’s invited you to a small council meeting,” Mya stated. It changed Sansa’s mind, she wasn’t prepared to be alone with him but today she would around other people, not cooped up in her room with her ladies.

“Fine, would you fetch my black gown? The one I made when I first came back home?” Sansa asked. The girls looked at each other and shook their heads.

“No you need something to impress,” Mya raised her eyebrow, whilst drying Sansa’s hair.

“Something Tully blue,” Beth added. It made Sansa well up with tears again, remembering her mother felt like reopening an old wound. She desperately would do anything to see her one last time.

“Yes that would be lovely, thank- you my ladies.” Sansa kissed them both on their cheeks. They laid out the seawater blue gown embellished with sapphires around the neck, it was velvet and had a woolly lining to keep her warm. It made Sansa feel new again, the corset tightening made her feel straight and lean, agile, like a true lady. But she wasn’t just a lady, she was a princess. Sansa would wear no crowns, but jewels in her hair the way she loved it like the true northern way. She even agreed to finally eat something, her time of mourning was over and like Jon had said days ago it was time to move forward.

Sansa took one finally glance at her mirror before going downstairs into the Great Hall, she looked more like her mother. _That’s how Petyr would have wanted me._ She took her ladies arms as they helped her down the stairs, taking one step at a time. As the final steps came, Sansa released herself from her ladies, they had to see her strength and not a little girl so fragile she needs help with the staircase. Mya Stone and Beth Cassel still supported her skirts as they were long, Sansa heard the generally noisy hall grow silent. She was beautiful and admirable, to the way she moved and the curves of her body, she was the most eligible match for any man. All the lords great and small turned their heads and bowed swiftly, and then Jon who seemed to grace her presence the most.

“Sansa,” He said, giving a smile. It was then Sansa knew her brother never would think of her like she had thought, as a wild woman who murdered her own husband. Sansa nodded politely in reply and his face lit up when she sat by his side. The hall was large at the front, even bigger than it seemed when sitting at any angle. The silence still remained as the lords were waiting patiently for the King and the Princess to begin the first council meeting. “They are waiting for you,” Jon whispered.

 _Oh, of course._ Sansa thought and rose up from her chair, “My lords and ladies, I thank you for your house’s support to our own and aided us in times of battle,” Sansa addressed, although she wasn’t sure of what to say. _Think about what Mother would say._ “We have urgent matter to discuss, then bring forward with your issues for us to manage.” Sansa finished, thankfully. She sat down immediately in the silence which made a massive creaking noise of the chair, it felt terribly awkward for her. The eyes of her bannerman and the ones of wildlings staring right at her. _Jon say something._ She shot Jon a look for him to continue, he didn’t know what to do as much as she didn’t.

“My lords, we have received a threat from Cersei Lannister whom has claimed herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, denying us our independence very clear.” Jon called from the front, loud enough so all men would hear from the back. Sansa’s heart jumped because it was from Cersei, she wanted her dead as much as she wanted her younger brother dead for murdering Joffrey which they did not. “There is a direct threat to not only me, but to my sister your Princess.” He continued, holding up the scroll and began passing it to lord whom wore sitting on the front tables. The hall lit up in fury and in rage, there were calls from Lord Tallhart that we should march south and declare our independence as unnegotiable. The ladies were gossiping about Sansa’s protection and how vile Cersei was when she last came to Winterfell, many other lords began to shout: ‘She fucks her own brother!’. The hall was going out of control, Jon stood up and roared. “The only thing we say to the Lannister’s is fuck off! No southern bitch like Cersei Lannister will threaten us with a letter from a raven! We are yet as of now unharmed, their words are meaningless. We are the north and don’t bend the knee to southern brother fuckers!” The lords cheered and laughed in the hall which echoed into the kitchens.

Ghost whom was nestled in between Jon and Sansa joined in by howling, she patted him on the head and Ghost rested his chin on her lap. The cheering continued for a while, who knew only ten men could make so much noise? Sansa silenced them all once again by rising up from the table, she wanted to have her own say, to even have a chance to defeat Cersei they needed allies. “I knew that woman, she will do anything for power and if we stand a chance at defeating her we must make alliances.” Sansa advised, “Her sons are dead, her daughter is dead. Myrcella Baratheon was betrothed to Trystane Martell before she died, the Martell’s hate the Lannisters. We can find help in Dorne.” The tables quietly discussed, the Stark’s didn’t ever have a good relationship with the Martell’s, as they were allied with the Targaryen’s.

“How do you know this?” Jon asked.

“Petyr Baelish was the master of coin in King’s Landing, the word spread to him and he told me.”

“Baelish is gone,” Ser Davos entered the conversation.

“I told him to leave.” Sansa confessed, she didn’t know how many were going to take that. The Knights of the Vale saved them all, the northern armies were still regaining their strengths. Jon exchanged looks with Sansa, “The Knights of the Vale will return if I ask, we may be at war, but I don’t sense anymore battles in the North.” Sansa explained. The tactics were solving out marvellously, Sansa knew how to play this game.

“She’s right,” Jon agreed, standing up from his throne. “But we must remember the army of the dead march on the wall, we don’t know when but they are coming.” Jon announced. Sansa hadn’t seen what Jon had, she was struggling to see the importance of it at the moment in time, there was a seven hundred foot walls in the way of them. If there was going to be a battle in this war it would be south, the dead weren’t coming yet, it felt too soon in her bones.

“If we all come to mutual decision that we should call on house Martell for an alliance, by your word your grace?” Ser Davos proposed. Jon gave a nod, “All men in favour of this alliance, say aye!” Daavos shouted. The men of the houses of the north spoke to one another, Sansa grew anxious and her hands started to shake so she hid them underneath the table. A strong hand rested on her lap and held her hand, it was Jon and their eyes met and melted into each other. The warmth was indescribable.

“Aye!” Lord Cerwyn called.

“Aye! For the north!” Lord Tallhart grunted.

“Aye!” Lord Glover cheered.

“Aye!” Lord Flint rose.

It would a day to be written down in history, the Starks had never before had an alliance with the Martell’s. Their countries were so far apart that they had no reason to need one, but they united with a common enemy. It would be a long time before the raven would reach Dorne and a much longer time to receive a reply. Sansa was glad that her situation was becoming secure, her brother still held onto her hand firmly. It was the best feeling in the world, but the scariest feeling as well and Sansa couldn’t put her finger on why it felt like that. Then the smaller matters of the North were discussed, it wasn’t anything major but it was about the preparations of winter.

After the first council meeting, a huge weight was lifted off Sansa’s shoulders and the pressure was easing off. They had all agreed to meet in the next few days, Jon was waiting rather impatiently for them to leave. He wanted to talk to Sansa alone, he had waited for long enough. Sansa could tell, after all there was so much he needed to know. Jon spread out across the empty hall, and sat on one of the oak hard tables whilst Sansa still remained at the front of the hall.

“Why did you refuse to see me?” Jon demanded. Sansa couldn’t describe why, it wouldn’t make sense to him, only to her.

“I was thinking, mourning and I was in shock.” Sansa replied, it was the truth but it seemed so hard to say.

“I could have helped you through it,” Jon attempted.

“I’m fine now.”

“So you’re not pregnant?” Jon blurted out, putting a hand over his mouth.

“No.” Sansa paused, it had never felt so awkward between them. As children they weren’t close, she took her mother’s side and shut Jon out. It was hard for them to connect that way as siblings. “I’m sorry, but you must have been busy, you don’t need me.” Sansa assumed.

“You think I don’t need you? Sansa you’re saving the North time and time again, Gods damn it you should have been Queen,” Jon burst out. Sansa didn’t reply, she didn’t want to be Queen and it was the last thing on her mind. Instead she stared on the flames of the fire, watching them lick over chunks of wood. She heard the footsteps of Jon sitting by her side.

“Cersei thought her brother Tyrion and I poisoned Joffrey together, that’s why she wants me dead.” Sansa admitted, continuing looking at the flames. Jon sighed in defeat, he was interesting to know what else happened the years who wasn’t there. “So I ran away with Petyr Baelish and I ended up back here, before Joffrey died I was going to leave King’ Landing with Tyrion. But I had to be pregnant first which never happened.” Sansa explained, poking at the wood with an iron rod.

“I can’t believe they married you off to Tyrion Lannister, he had such a disgusting mind.” Jon cursed.

“He was a nice man, the marriage didn’t mean anything because we never consummated it. But sometimes I feel guilty-“

“For not consummating your marriage with a Lannister?” Jon almost choked.

“No, for leaving him to face inevitable death. I could have defended him at the time, I never really knew if he had died or not. He could have gotten away, his brother Jamie would have never have let his brother die.” She muttered. Sansa had often wondered if her first husband had ever lived and if he was, where was he? What was he doing? Could he be thinking about her, like she was thinking about him?

“I travelled all the way up to the wall with Tyrion Lannister, he would talk all the bloody time.” Jon ranted, taking a long sip of ale from his mug.

“I know, he spoke about his time at the Wall. What was it like, when you saw-“Sansa was struggling to phrase this certain subject into a sentence. “Where you scared when you saw the white walkers?”

Jon fell silent for a moment, he knew he had to speak about it and he didn’t think it would be with his sister. “I couldn’t feel anything.”

Sansa was afraid now. White walkers and the children of the forest were fairy tale and nightmares, the long night was a myth or so Old nan would tell. “Can they be killed?” Sansa whispered. She saw her brother bit his lip and close his eyes for a moment, talking about what he had seen made him uncomfortable.

“Anyone can be killed. They’ve been killed by dragonglass, but I swung my valyrian sword at it and it shattered into a millon pieces.” Jon whispered back.

“What are we going to do?” Sansa asked.

“Well, we could fight them or run as far south as the world will let us.”

“What’s the best option?”

“I don’t know.” Jon replied, he straightened up. Sansa watched him move, it made her think of so many memories and the changes she had noticed in Jon since them all leaving Winterfell. The teenage boy had grown into a man, like Sansa had grown from a little girl into a woman. So many miles and time apart, but now they found their way back to each other, it was a wonder. Sansa did indeed wonder if Jon felt the same way, her eyes fell from his jawline she had been focusing on and his eyes. His eyes.

 

 

 


	5. "I'm not marrying anyone."

CHAPTER 5

JON

Every movement Sansa made radiated beauty and glamour, her red hair bounced softly as she entered hall. Her head was always high as her courtesies were, the truest lady of the land. He was seeing her in all the wrong ways, a way a brother should never look at his sister. Sansa was taking him by his heart and was changing his perspectives, showing him no mercy. Jon was wide eyed, he the storm calm when she came close. _We were never close siblings._ The feeling was so wrong that it felt right, but he had to stay away because it wasn’t right at all. But what if they could meet in the middle? _She doesn’t feel the same way._ If it was a different time and a different place, Jon couldn’t think of this now. An arrow could be fired through his eyes, a sip taken from a poison goblet, he could be dead. _We have so many enemies now, even the ones in our heads._ Jon was soon talking sense again, the north was frozen and under cracking pressure. He saw her like a warning sign, trying not to talk sense to him. The atmosphere was chilling and Jon could feel it in his bones, the north stretched leagues away and it was daunting. There was so many things for Jon to fix, but all kept thinking was _what would father do? Would his ghost murder me in my sleep for feeling this way about Sansa?_

He shook his head and leaned over the walls of Winterfell, it was a good place to think but a dangerous place to be left with your own thoughts. Jon had been doing too much thinking and not enough actions, today he would do something that King’s do. There had been no word from Dorne, it had only been a few days since the raven had flown. He prayed for the chances of a reply and prayed that the raven hadn’t been intercepted. There was no plan, it was just a waiting game.

The grand horn of arrival sounded as a man scolded to open the gates, Jon rushed down the steps and towards the south part of the castle. Men were rushing and heaving the portcullis up, a small flood of horses galloped in bearing the sigil of a rose and another bearing a sun split with a spear. House Martell and house Tyrell had entered his walls with the white flag in surrender and meanings of peace, Jon couldn’t believe his eyes. Archers and swordsman laid down their weapons as they found the white flag in the breeze, Jon called them to find Ser Daavos and Tourmund to his sides.

An old, but elegant lady dressed in light blue furs was struggling with the steps of her carriage, she was cursing very loudly at the soldier aiding her out. The soldiers looked heavy on their horses with armour and furs, but the dornish men hardly wore any furs at all to protect them from the cold. Next that rode in were three young ladies, their black eyes piercing like a snakes and their weapons firmly at hand.

“I knew the North was going to be cold, but not this bloody cold!” Scolded Lady Tyrell, Jon assumed. “Where’s the King in the North then? Where’s Lady Sansa?” She continued. _She’s here for Sansa?_ Jon’s heart dropped, how they could have known each other and why had the travelled so far. The raven surely hadn’t landed in Dorne already, none of this made sense. Wasn’t there supposed to be the Prince of Dorne?

Ser Davos had made it to Jon’s side, Tormund was out hunting with other wildlings which Jon had assumed. “Who are these people?” Jon asked.

“That is the Lady Olenna Tyrell, and there.” Davos pointed towards the three ladies riding and circling on their horses. “Prince Oberyn’s paramour and her daughters.” Their eyes were analysing every speck of Winterfell, they had come a very long way after all. Lady Olenna marched up to Jon and took a very long and hard look at him.

“So you’re the one they call the white wolf?” She mused, looking at him up and down. Jon was rather speechless, she held out her hand which he kissed quickly. “Well, I do say you are alike Ned Stark,”

“My lady you are very welcome to stay, we received no word of your coming,” Jon started which Olenna Tyrell quickly interrupted.

“We don’t have much time to talk, take my arm would you. I’m an old lady now.” Jon did so as she began talking a lot of her journey up to Winterfell and that she hadn’t seen so much snow in fifteen years, she had never been so north either. Lady Olenna acknowledged Ser Davos with a nod as she clearly had no idea who he was. They were settled down in the drawing room of Winterfell with a large fire place burning bright, Tyrell soldiers were set back a small distance away from her. Jon sat there wide eyed and tired, he had southern soldiers around and strangers which made him on edge. The ladies from representing house Martell were shown their rooms and they all agreed to dine with the Princess as well tonight, their names were Ellaria Sand, Nymeria Sand and Tyene Sand. All bastards of Dorne.

“Before I get to the point of why I’m really here,” Olenna started as she took her furs off to uncover a black gown in mourning. Jon had observed. “Cersei Lannister has gone mad, blown up the Sept of Baelor and murdered my son, grandson and my granddaughter, the Queen.” Olenna’s face fell as she recounted the deaths of her family.

“I offer my condolences, her family is responsible for the deaths of my own. I sympathise.” Jon offered.

“Thank-you,” Olenna replied, sipping at her herbal tea. “I have come to propose an alliance,”

“I’m not marrying anyone.” Jon fretted.

“Not you, your sister.” Olenna laughed. Jon flinched, _what?_ “Where is she? I haven’t seen my dear Sansa in three years, I must tell her, you see she was very good friends with my granddaughter.” Olenna continued to talk. Jon still hadn’t answered, he promised himself that he wouldn’t allow her to marry by force.

“To whom would you have her marry?” Ser Davos asked, intrigued. Jon scratched his beard, as he weighed up his options. He wasn’t going to give Sansa away, he had only just got her back.

“I can’t let my sister marry,” Jon spoke up. Olenna mouth dropped.

“Why ever not?” She demanded. “She wasn’t impregnated by Bolton’s son was she?”

“No.” Jon explained. “He’s dead, Sansa needs time.” Jon couldn’t believe this woman would ask such a thing, Jon couldn’t believe that he acted so harshly towards her. He loved his sister, he really did.

“She would live a very good life with my grandson Willias Tyrell, winter had come. The north is no place for a beautiful soul like Sansa’s.” Olenna encouraged. It was true, when the army of the dead came he didn’t want her to see it. Jon wanted to now know what the North would receive in return. The door bolted open, dark yellow skirts flowed across the stone floors, Ellaria Sand stood regal and tall. Her eyes immediately pierced at Jon, they flickered from face to face, the floor to the ceiling.

“Don’t stop on my account,” She purred, but the others in the room found it difficult to continue. She moved like a feline, but her eyes were of a snake’s. The sunset tinge of her skin made the whole room glow, she was exotic and foreign. Olenna tutted and rolled her eyes, Ser Davos was moving uncomfortably. Jon was trying not to look at her eyes, like not staring into direct sunlight. Ellaria Sand paced around till she stood behind Lady Olenna, swaying her hips slightly. “Well, I see I’ve come in at the right time. The reason why we are truly here is for a Targaryen restoration,”

Jon almost choked on his wine, there had been enough surprises today. Davos and Jon exchanged exasperated looks. The Stark soldiers turned their heads, Jon stood up and began shaking his head. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Ser Davos began. “But the dragons are all dead, Robert Baratheon saw the end to that.”

“The Mad King murdered my grandfather and my uncle!” Jon shouted, slamming the goblet hard on the oak table. He stormed off in front of the flames in reflection like Sansa had done, when she needed to find some clarity. “The north remembers.”

“And I’m sure your grace that the north also remembers that the Lannister’s are responsible for the lives of three stark members and for the thousands of lives at war?” Olenna raised her voice. “Tormented your sister, Lady Sansa for three years. Gave your ancestral home and lands to Roose Bolton who murdered your brother?”

Jon inhaled carefully, he had to contain his anger. “Why are you here?” He said through bared teeth.

“To make an alliance, Daenerys Targaryen is sailing to the narrow sea as we speak, with a thousand ships, forty thousand Dothraki, eight thousands unsullied and three large dragons.” Olenna declared. “Now King of the North, tell me are you going to stand in her way?” Olenna demanded.

 _The dragons are dead,_ Jon thought. He still had no answer to his question to why they are here, he returned back to the table before answering them. “Why should the north make an alliance with you to help a Targaryen restoration?” Jon demanded. Ghost had gone upstairs to meet with Sansa, he couldn’t settle his nerves now. Jon didn’t quite understand how most alliances worked, the only experience he had of ruling was at the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.

“Do you know what they say about, Jon Snow?” Ellaria Sand asked, rising to fill more red wine into her goblet. “Ned’s Stark’ sister, Lyanna. Well, Rhaegar Targaryen took a public fancying to her, completely ignoring his wife Elia Martell at the tourney at Harrenhal. The prince placed a bouquet of blue velvet flowers in her lap as his favour. Robert’s rebellion came, Rheagar snatched Lyanna away to a tower. Then Ned Stark came home with a babe.” She spoke like she was telling a nasty bedtime story, like Old Nan did when he was younger. “That’s what they say about you.”

“I don’t want to listen about rumours.” Jon said. _But what if they’re true?_ A small piece of his mind called, but Jon knew who his father was and he never knew his mother, that’s how it was. Ser Davos made it obvious on his face that it wasn’t the first that he had heard of it, he wouldn’t tell Jon until he was ready to know. Hearing it otherwise made him think, if that’s what people had been saying for the past twenty years, they must really believe it’s the truth.

Jon wasn’t stupid for not knowing that he was half Targaryen and half Stark, it was true what people say about secrets they are best hidden from harm.

“Are you refusing the offer?” Lady Olenna asked rather politely.

“Princess Sansa must hear of this, she will consider herself,” Jon imagined his beautiful sister cast away to a land of summer and sweetness, somewhere that wasn’t with him and the place she belonged. He hadn’t felt so jealous and bitter for keeping Sansa away from all that. “You would have my sister, what would I have in return?” Jon demanded. It would have to be something good for him to agree and to break bread with the Targaryen’s.

“The dragon Queen would allow you to keep Winterfell as an independent nation and you rule as its King, however you must support her claim and keep peace throughout the realm.” Olenna explained. The terms were extremely fair, too fair. Jon had trouble attempting to consider with the knowledge he had of the Targaryen’s madness, and the murders they committed on his family. _But what if I am Rhaegar’s son?_ Would Jon be refusing to aid his own blood, whilst betraying the other?

“My bannerman will never fight for a Targaryen, but they will fight the Lannister’s to aid the cause.” Jon laid out the rules. Lady Olenna and Ellaria Sand switched anxious glances, Olenna shuffled in her seat and nodded gravely. Ellaria was weighing up the idea in her head, it was fair and it was what they asked for, but not completely. Alliances change and manoeuvre to suit. Jon never felt so undecided, he didn’t want to believe what Ellaria Sand had said. He didn’t want Sansa to marry again, shipped off to some unknown place, married to man who could be just the same as Ramsay Bolton. What Jon wanted the most at the given time was peace and Sansa to be happy, even though she was home, there was something missing in her heart. “Ser Davos, would you advise me to agree on the terms that my sister will allow her marriage to go forward?” Jon asked of Ser Davos.

“The north needs this, the world to be rid of Lannister’s and for peace throughout the realm. We could be an independent nation, like Robb had wanted it to be.” Ser Davos advised. It was true, honest and worthy, it was the best offer around. Eddard Stark would have wanted peace and protection for his family. Jon looked up at Olenna Tyrell and Ellaria Sand and nodded in consideration. “I accept, on terms of my sister.”

Sansa joined them in the drawing room, it was an emotional reunion with herself and Olenna Tyrell. She told Sansa the news of the Capitol and of her granddaughter death, Sansa’s cheeks flooded with tears and she embraced the elderly and stubborn woman. The other news of the alliance was a shock, she didn’t think of remarrying and was quite clearly upset still. Jon just wanted to reach up to her face to wipe the innocent tears from falling, her heart sunken eyes to be given life again. To run his fingers through her kissed by fire long locks.

“My grandson, Willias Tyrell has now stepped up as Warden of the South and Lord of the Reach. Willias is in need of a wife, once your brother had decreed it. You shall be married and named the Lady of Highgarden.” Olenna said, hoping it would life the heart of Sansa’s up. But she didn’t know what to say, Jon could see how speechless she was, he could hardly watch.

“I’m no longer a maiden,” Sansa answered instead. Jon had hoped that now they would turn her away and not offer the marriage, he was being selfish and inconsiderate. Maybe it was in Sansa’s interests to be happily marriage, but Jon only saw her future in Winterfell.

“I’m aware, but you are not with child are you?” Olenna asked.

“Of course not.” Sansa replied, ignoring Jon’s glance.

“Good, then I see no reason to why this marriage shouldn’t go ahead, my grandson is honourable and handsome. Once Daenerys Stormborn has claimed the Iron Throne, I wish for you to be wed.” Olenna confirmed. Jon and Sansa had promised each other they would stay by their side.

“I think we’ve heard enough for today,” Jon stood up, taking Sansa’s delicate hand. “I have spoken with my bannerman, they have given me their blessing, strangely, and they want their independence. You shall be shown to your rooms, for rest and shall meet again tonight. My sister and I must discuss further, send word to your dragon Queen. We will fight for her claim.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

SANSA

Whilst they were in the meeting with Lady Olenna and Ellaria Sand, Sansa could feel Jon’s eyes watching her. They never left her and it comforted her, it strongly reassured her like nothing before. Sansa noticed that the King in the North was almost powerless under the influence of the Queen of Thorns. Ellaria Sand’s eyes kept piercing right through her, Sansa remembered her at Joffrey’s wedding, the whore of Prince Oberyn with the exotic mannerisms. She felt conscious when she was around Ellaria, her Prince died because Cersei believed that Tyrion and Sansa murdered the King. Or did Ellaria look at all new people that way?

Jon and Sansa had decided to meet in the Godswood, when they wanted to speak to each other alone and freely. Sansa was nervous for what to wear, she had no idea as to why because she would have her thick furs on top. Next she was worried how her hair looked, she had to wrestle with her hands to stop playing with it. The winter bit at their faces, but as they were ice born they could stand it. “All this plotting and forging alliances and waging war makes me want to scream, how do you do it Jon? You can fight, wield a sword, lead armies and win victories. I feel so useless,” Sansa huffed and sat carefully on the weirdwood tree’s roots.

“I was a shit Lord Commander, that’s why my brother’s murdered me, I tried to unite two kinds of people as one and I failed. When I rose from the dead, I really did question why I was brought back. But when you came back through those gates.” Jon paused for a moment, shuffling to sit beside Sansa. “I thought I had lost sense of anything, it was five years since I last seen you, I thought you were a dream or a ghost.” Jon said, Sansa could tell he had never fled his heart like this before. She admired that, their faces grew close and held in place, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“What are you trying to say?” Sansa breathed, she felt dizzy like she was in a dream.

“You bring people hope, that’s not useless.”

Their faces came closer and closer, it was slow like they were scared of it happening but they wanted it so bad. They were wrapped in their furs on the snow falling softly, the tension was eager to break. Sansa’s heart wrenched and crushed, it was euphoric and it was wavering and waiting for them to break the attraction. _Just forget he’s your brother, just this once._ She begged herself and begged they both wanted it, just one little push. They were intoxicated before they had even breathed each other in, they didn’t hold back. Jon lips crushed into Sansa’s, the moment was climaxing for so long. They pushed closer and closer, they were spiralling out of control. Jon lowered her down against the snow and climbed atop of her, continuing the most passionate hungry kiss the Godswood had ever seen. “I’ve wanted you, for so long.” Jon growled. Sansa moaned against his lips, they were enthralled and so wrapped in their own stupidity.

**SNAP**

Their lips pulled away from each other immediately, someone had been watching them Sansa could feel it in her bones. “Someone saw us!” Sansa whispered, crawling up against the tree roots. Jon got to his feet in a flash and drew his sword, he ran into the woods. The kiss was still present on her lips, she touched them carefully. It the craziest feeling in the world, the whole atmosphere changed, and the snow seemed to settle and the air felt like a warm flush of oxygen. She gathered herself to her feet and brushed off the snow, she felt light headed and weary. _I can’t believe it._ It felt like the scariest moment and the most beautiful at the same time, Sansa had been developing feelings for quite some time. The shock still hadn’t sunk within, she had never had a surprise like that. With her brother. It was so wrong, but the feeling was like she had never felt before. The waves of realisation still came, where was Jon?

A tall figure waged through the trees, carrying his sword close to his side. It was Jon. “Did you see? Was someone there?” Sansa cried, running up to him.

“No one was there,” Jon replied, holding her face close.

“All right, thank the Gods,” She sighed, feeling unconvinced. Sansa was sure there was someone lurking behind the trees, she shook her head in dismay.

“How are you feeling?” Jon asked. It seemed like the most outraging question ever asked, she had no idea how she was feeling, Sansa wasn’t sure if this was a dream or what was really happening. All she knew was that she wanted it to be real. Sansa felt guilty as well, in the Godswood where all the weirwood faces were watching over her, many faces of her ancestors crying tears of blood.

“This is impossible, we can’t do this!” Sansa cried.

“Tell me that didn’t feel right?” Jon demanded, shaking her a little. The one moment she could close her eyes without feeling the pain of Ramsay, the torment of Joffrey, the death of her family. Sansa could finally breathe again, she felt alive. The problem was that it felt so right, she was speechless. “I thought so,” Jon muttered.

“It almost feels unnatural,” Sansa said.

“What?”

“Loving you.” Sansa confessed, the first time she had admitted it to herself. Jon eyes lit up in excitement.

“Why should it be? Just because they all say it is?” Jon pondered, but he knew he was questioning actually being her brother at all.

“Maybe, but what is natural?” Sansa considered, it was a philosopher’s question. It was like asking whether or not something’s real.

“Something that’s meant to be.”

“I can’t marry Willias Tyrell then,” Sansa started. “But the alliance terms, I must.”

“No, we promised we’d be by each other’s side always.” Jon stated, grabbing hold of her white delicate hands. Sansa turned her face, the Godswood was closing in on them both as the darkness flowed. Sansa had found love where is wasn’t supposed to be, right in front of her and it didn’t make sense at all. Cersei and Jaime Lannister occupied her thoughts, for a long time their relationship and love made her won’t to vomit. Sansa was just a hypocrite now, but she was starting to understand the attraction between two siblings, it wasn’t like the Targaryen’s hadn’t been doing it for hundreds of years to make their blood line pure. But Sansa never saw Jon as her brother, not until now. The skies were blinking up at them both, they saw a storm of snow bubbling up in the clouds. “I’ll fight for you,” Jon vowed.

“Don’t be stupid, they will kill us both.” Sansa murmured, rolling her eyes.

“No one can touch you, I will protect you.”

Sansa began to flow tears from her eyes rolling down her cheeks, it was a beautiful dream, and it really was. To finally live in a world where you could love who you wanted to love and share your life together, forgetting everything of where you came from. To be far away from anyone to snigger or shame, where even the dead wouldn’t judge. That’s what this was a dream coming out of a lifelong nightmare, it was a fantasy.

“I wish,” Sansa cried, holding his face. His brown eyes drooping with lost hope and love, they were almost unbearable to gaze into. “I wish that we could do this, but you are the King and I am your sister.” It was like time had frozen, the snowflakes had stopped floating mid drift and the winds made no more howling, no more words were said. Sansa told the harsh and hideous truth, she gathered herself to her feet whilst Jon still sat their gazing right through her.

Sansa turned her back, feeling the weight of his gaze never leaving her. If she wasn’t doing this for her, she was doing this for his future of the future of her house. Walking away from the thing she wanted the most, love there and willing for her to take made her want to stick pins in her eyes in regret. It was the most powerful thing a woman can walk, the gravity was forcing her back into his arms. Sansa had to be strong enough to leave, she felt the judgement of the weirwood trees curse her name as she left on her horse. She galloped fiercely back to Winterfell, fighting back the endless tears that were streaming down her cold cheeks.

Sansa wanted it to leave it as a dream, one that even a wish could never bring her. She buried it along with her feeling in her soul, Sansa had to prepare to dine with the Tyrells, the sand snakes and her brother. But the person who was watching over them whilst they kissed was looming over her mind.

 

 

  **Authors note**

**Thank-you for all you readers out there, I will be adding another chapter today which will be longer. I'll be updating every couple of days, I hope you love it as much as I** **love writing it!**

 


	7. "She shall burn!"

Chapter Seven

JON

The gods may damn him, the weirwood bloody faces may damn him but most of all may Catelyn Stark’s ghost burn him and damn him to hell of eternity. He thought he was poisoning everyone he touched, first Ygritte and now his _sister_ Sansa. Jon was inflicting terror with his kisses, condemning them to worse than death. He couldn’t fight it, nor could he fight the guilt in his stomach or the lust for her love. It should have been sickening, but it was the warmest thing in his heart. The softness of her lips, the silkiness of her auburn curls wrapping around his fingers. Her moans when she gave into something she wanted, then the shattering ice stabbed in his heart. _You are the King and I am your sister._ There wasn’t any use of him trying for her love, even though she had admitted it. Their lives would be stripped from humanity, named incestuous animals to breed mad bastards. Humiliation would fill them, lust would engulf him and spit him out. Sansa didn’t deserve this, the torment she had endured in the past was enough and he had condemned her with this heavy sickening burden. _I wantonly kissed my own sister._ What was the matter with Jon? He lusted after his delicate and vulnerable sister, it must had been true what they said about bastards. They bred death and lust.

Now Jon had to face an audience of people, Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand and her snakes, his advisors and his sister. Not forgetting the ghosts of the dead Starks attempting to plunge an non-existent dagger in his back, to make him feel their shame and horror. Jon was going to get drunk tonight, he could feel it coming like it was the only way he would be able to confront his guests. He imagined Catelyn Stark scooping his eyes out from his sockets, Robb slicing up Jon’s insides, Ramsay Bolton peeling back his skin on fingers for touching Sansa. Then Eddard striking his head from his shoulders and feeding his cock to the dogs. This made his stomach lurch, he would never think of his sister in that way again or make her feel that she should do the same. But the sense was knocked into him like a pounding punch, Jon wanted his sister or cousin or whatever she was to him. Sansa was warm, delicate, elegant, and beautiful and Jon didn’t want her of her relations towards them but because of her strong and passionate heart. Maybe he wasn’t poisoning her, it would be the opposite. Both drowning in their own brand of suffocation which made his heart stammer and lust grow, it was unobtainable. He would certainly be damned if Sansa married Willias Tyrell.

“Your grace, I heard tales of your climb up the wall,” Olenna Tyrell mused, throwing Jon in the deep end. The quiet shuffling of servants topping up wine and placing food on his table made his aware that dinner was starting, Olenna Tyrell was the first to arrive with her light blue dyed furs to match her hat. The open fireplaces were brazing powerful heat, radiating the room, causing a sweat on his forehead. Jon cleared his throat.

“Yes, my lady. What of it?” Jon demanded. He had the aching climb of the wall at the back of his mind, then suddenly the flashes of the extreme strains in his limbs returned as he remembered how it felt. The tiredness, hunger and thirst were weighing him down, but the truth of how he made it was of the woman kissed by fire. Their kiss once they had reached the top of the snowy landscape was scarred onto his heart, it made the pain stronger.

“You are a hard man indeed.” Olenna Tyrell stirred. “I wonder how your sister puts up with you,”

Jon almost choked on his wine, their Sansa stood on the entrance to the grand dining room leaning up against the thick and decorated tapestries. But it wasn’t them that stood out like a naked glowing flame, it was her dressed in sapphire bodice dress with a long seeping neck line, a swell of breasts appeared. Jon’s mouth dropped, his hand almost slipping with the goblet. Sansa’s flamed hair was flowing down her neck, a light pearly shawl resting on her shoulders. “There she is the beauty, the tales ring from the North to the east, south and west!” Olenna rambled on. Her steps were graceful and strong, Jon and her eyes met for a split second then snapped away from each other like they had stung. Sansa blushed and her eyes flew to the floor, she took the seat opposite Olenna to the right of Jon. He couldn’t read her expression, it was mostly embarrassed and flushed. Her lips were frozen in a plump line, her chin held high like it was lingering to break.

“Jon,” she breathed, dipping her head in curtesy, never directly glancing at Jon. “Lady Olenna, you honour me with your kind words,” She thanked, still avoiding Jon’s desperate eye contact. He shuffled in his seat nervously, sipping more and more from his wine goblet.

“My lady, how do you fare now a days?” Olenna asked, entering small talk with his sister. Sansa hesitated, he was sure that she knew he was staring at her, it was probably starting to make her feel uncomfortable, so Jon shook out of his trance immediately.

“Fine, I hope the cold isn’t bothering you so much and that your rooms are comfortable,” Sansa engaged.

“Yes of course, I cannot wait to discuss our plans of our alliances,” Olenna started. Then swooping in was the sand snakes taking their seats opposite Jon and Sansa, narrowing their eyes in speculation. Their tanned skin was memorizing, their exotic clothing wasn’t suited at all to the North’s climate. Jon attempted to smile, whilst Sansa greeted them courtly and welcoming. Jon was awkward, stiff and angry that they were here to talk of Sansa’s marriage to Willias Tyrell.

“Lady Sansa, it has been a long time since we have seen each other in King’s Landing,” Ellaria Sand purred, folding her hands. Tyene and Nymeria Sand exchanged flickering glances, too quick for Jon to calculate and keep up on. Everything about the Sand Snakes made Jon Snow anxious, they were unknown to the north like a species of hostile ground they would scan the every room they entered almost as though they were looking for a threat. Ellaria’s daughters particularly watched Sansa, many people did as they were enthralled by her beauty. But these were wide eyed suspicious glares, Jon wanted to tell them to fuck off staring.

“I’m sorry for your loss of your…partner and your father.” Sansa answered sincerely, glancing at the Sand Snakes.

“Well about the alliance, I cannot wait for when you meet Willias. He’s a striking young man, very capable…” Jon let her ramble on and on about how her wonderful grandson was the most handsome man, Westeros has ever laid eyes on. Serving girls topped up more wines and placed platers of food and desserts on the table, Jon drank more and more wine he thought his head was starting to spin. Jon sat there as they only man on the table, surrounding by the strongest women in the country, Sansa was proceeding to ignore his eye contact. Olenna was too busy boasting about her wonderful grandson, the Sand Snakes still stared and hardly touched their food.

“About the alliance,” Jon finally spoke up, all eyes on him. Even his sisters, at last.

“What of it?” Olenna fired.

Jon cleared his throat with another swig of wine, “I can’t offer my sister Sansa to marry your grandson, but I am willing to compromise-“

“Your grace, you agreed to this?” Olenna demanded. Sansa’s hands were shaking underneath the table, Jon clasped on to steady them. Her eyes full of fear and surprise, Jon wasn’t going to let her marry some southern lord, Sansa belonged with him no matter how selfish it was.

“No, I considered it, but I am not turning the offer down. My other sister Arya, my lady would be a better match.” Jon replied, Sansa’s hand yanking away from Jon’s instantly. Jon Snow couldn’t have believed that he had thrown his other sister into a marriage like it was nothing, the selfishness was thriving in his body. He wanted to spit of his soul.

“There hasn’t been any talk of Arya Stark for a very long time,” Olenna said.

“She’s a maiden, Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell and must marry a northern lord.” Jon protested. Sansa’s eyes flashed with fury, Jon didn’t quite understand why she was so angry after all he was freeing her from another doomed marriage, wasn’t he? The snakes sunk back in their seats, the tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

“I’m sorry my lady, I must remain by my brother’s side. My duty to the North is paramount, please consider our offer. We may discuss a treaty in its stead,” Sansa pleaded, her hand sneaking back into Jon’s from under the table. Her ivory fingers soft, her touch made Jon’s heart stammer. Olenna huffed, wrapping her hands round a cup before discussing more. It had placed them all in a dangerous and spiralling position, they weren’t going to get out of this marriage alliance easily.

“Fine, but I give you a month for Lady Arya Stark’s return to Winterfell, if not, Sansa will marry Willias as you had promised before.” Olenna concluded, clearly unpleased with the verdict. Jon remembered his brothers Robb actions, turning down a marriage alliance led to his death and the downfall of the Stark’s. Jon couldn’t repeat these mistakes, too many lives were supported by his word and protection. The North had to be his main priority, it wavered around Sansa as she was constantly caught up in the clutches of alliances.

“There is always so much talk of marriage, what about the fighting?” Nymeria Sand demanded, slipping her way into the conversation which eased the mood. Jon gave Sansa’s hand a squeeze before releasing it from underneath the table, they still barely looked at each other. _Was the shame to great?_ But was this how their lives would proceed, shifting around in the dark or hiding clear from anyone’s view. Still it had only been a couple of hours since they had kissed in the Godswood, they hadn’t had enough time to think. Nothing was going to prepare each other when they spoke later in the night, Sansa would be angry at Jon and Jon would be pleading with her to forgive him. They only had a month for Arya to return, but she could be dead for all they knew, cold in a grave without a name. Jon was cursing inside and wishing that they hadn’t come north, they disturbed the peace with news of dragons and marriage, the two things which terrified both Sansa and Jon.

“Of course, your grace I hear you’re the best swordsman that has ever walked.” Ellaira added, summoning another serving girl to take away her tray of food.

“I hear the same,” Tyene Sand rasped, tilting her head to the side. Her beady eyes switching between Jon and Sansa’s faces.

“I never have liked fighting, but I know that there will always be plenty to do.” Jon grunted, tearing a hunk of bread and putting it in his mouth, swallowing more wine. He had noticed that Sansa wasn’t eating particularly much either, only eating the vegetable and picking at the meat. Jon was gradually realising that these kinds of dinners weren’t the ones that you were supposed to eat at, but the ones to discuss and drink. He pushed aside his plate, if this was how things were done, he was going to do it. “When will Daenerys Targaryen reach Westeros?” Jon demanded.

“I was waiting for someone to break the ice,” Ellaria laughed, it wasn’t a pretty laugh, it was deadly. Her daughters smiling at Sansa made her shift uncomfortably, Jon scratched his chin and leaned forward. “I’ve heard reports of her settlement at Dragonstone, she’s waiting with her army at advisors for the right time. She’s formed a sort of agreement with Tyrion Lannister-“Ellaria said.

“What did you say?” Sansa blurted out, interrupting.

“Tyrion Lannister is Daenerys’s Hand, your first husband, don’t tell me you don’t remember?” Ellaria teased.

“Of course I remember,” Sansa was outraged, but never rose her voice.

“He still speaks very fondly of you,” Olenna started, engaging in the conversation once again. “When the time is right she shall order the Tyrell and dornish troops south the attack the Red Keep from the east, that’s where the Lannister army shall be.” Olenna explained.

“You make it sound so simple,” Jon shook his head.

“I doubt it will take long, three dragons and a mass army, it will be whenever they are ready.”

“No it can’t be so simple,” Sansa spoke, adjusting the neckline of her dress. “Cersei has wildfire in the Red Keep, she would rather see it all burn than for anyone else to take the Iron Throne.”

“Then she shall burn!” Ellaria laughed again, raising her glass in cheers. But maybe it could all be that simple, blazing the capitol clean of Lannister’s by dragon fire, waiting for it all to become dust and raise powerful walls once again. Jon kept on repeating the same daunting images in his mind, the Night King sat high on his dead horse, charging forward with the ice and destruction coursing through the land. _The real war is between the living and the dead._ The Tyrells, the Sand Snakes whom held Dorne weren’t going to see it that way, they wanted vengeance as much as the Stark’s did for their losses. To watch the existence of the Lannister’s obliterated from the earth, but Jon knew the real war.

Jon would hold the north with its strongest forces, it was all about the waiting hesitantly for the call when they would have to fight to protect themselves. No man, woman, dragon or white walker was going to take his home and his family away from him. Jon would rather the cold turn him to stone, but he would uncover the truth of his parentage. If it was meant that he was a Targaryen like Ellaria Sand had spoken about, it would still mean he would have ice channelling through his veins. Wherever Arya or Bran was, they had to come home but Jon would damn himself for allowing either of his sisters to marry.

Jon still condemned himself for kissing Sansa in the Godswood, it felt like everyone in the dinner hall had seen it happen and their eyes for piercing through him and spitting on his soul. Whilst Jon had always wanted to be a Stark and was now actually being accepted as one, he prayed to be someone else. But he couldn’t have her. Sansa was right, they would _kill us both._ Nothing had prepared him for this, lust was crawling inside his aching heart, but he loved Sansa. It was poisonous and desirable all at once.

 

It wasn't just Sansa's paranoia that someone had seen them in the Godswood, it was a physically being dining with them at night.

 

 

 

 


	8. "How dare I compare."

Chapter eight

SANSA

Dinner was finally and thankfully over, the tension of the mood would change every expression and every word spoken. It was like Sansa and Jon were on a spinning block, switching turns of interrogating conversations and glaring looks. She had always felt comfortable with Lady Olenna, but something had changed within her, the death of son and her grandchildren were still aflame. The Sand snakes made Sansa feel incredibly nervous with their eyeful and intimidating glances, the only thing that was worse was Jon. Sansa just _wanted_ to forget what had happened between them, to brush it underneath the carpet. To ignore the powerful sensation of love felt abominable, but wasn’t incest the same? Were they going to lead their lives the same way Cersei and Jaime Lannister did, breed mad monstrous bastards? _How dare I compare._ Sansa was disgusted that she would view their situation against Cersei’s, the idea of them being together…sense. But also something darkly wrong.

Sansa wanted to let out a scream, smash a mirror into pieces, instead she took a long look at herself in it. The deep v-line neck was a stupid thing to wear, _that’s why they were all staring at me like that, and they think I’m a whore._ Sansa ripped at her dress, the sleeves, her skirts and the sapphires clasping of the bodice and scattering on the floor. Till she remained just Sansa Stark, a body full of bloody scars painted on her ivory skin. They ran from her waist down to the tops are her thighs, missing the only part Ramsay wanted. Then she remembered that night. _You’ve known Sansa since she was a girl. Now watch her become a woman._ When she cried into the pillows that night, gripping hold of the covers on the bed and was stripped slowly and intensely. Then it happened night after night, locked in the same room all day, waiting for the pain and bruises to be ripened once more. Now the bloody cuts were scaring into burning red lines, _all memory of you will disappear._ Sansa could never forget.

She had curled up in naked ball, rocking back and forth and with tears scrolling down her cheeks. Her muffled cries had been heard all the way down the halls of Winterfell, they echoed like a howling wolf crying for protection. Sansa just wanted to feel safe, not even now she was in her own home, and she still didn’t feel shielded. It felt haunted, there were ghosts ruling the castle and terrorising her dreams. Jon couldn’t protect her now, the horrors had already taken place, and he could only stop them from ever happening again. Sansa loved her brother, not like a sister should have and even admitted it. Nothing good would have become of it, just toxic and doomed love. This caused Sansa to cry more, the cries were becoming too loud and she was struggling to control her breathing. Calming down was a long process, soothing and talking herself down just like she had taught herself on many occasions. She clothed herself in her night gown and settled herself in her fluffy wool bed, before she was about to snuff the light from her bedside candle, a sharp knock thudded her door.

“Who is it?” Sansa called, she prayed it wasn’t Jon, she couldn’t bear to see his sullen and heartbroken face she had seen at dinner.

“It’s Ellaria Sand.” The lady from behind the door purred. “May I come in?”

Sansa breathed carefully and scuffled over to open the latch on the door, “Of course, my Lady.” Ellaria Sand paced her way in, taking in the full picture of Sansa’s room. Her head turned sharply to Sansa.

“I apologise for coming so late, I had to speak to you.” Ellaria responded, glancing at the torn up dress on the floor. The fire in her face made her tanned skin glow, she had a beautiful clear complexion that always was complimented by her dresses. Shades of yellow and orange, like a sunset.

“About what?” Sansa demanded, hoping to draw Ellaria’s eyes away from the ruined dress on the ground.

“I saw you.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa froze. Did she even need to ask?

“In the Godswood with all the pretty snowy trees, with your brother.” Ellaria smiled and focused her beady snake-like eyes on Sansa’s tear and red stained cheeks. Sana didn’t know how to react, was she to fall to her knees and beg her to not speak a word or would she rise as a Queen and defend her actions.

“Why are you telling me this? You could have run and told the world and have our throats slit in our sleep,” Sansa rose, folding her arms. Despite the panic taking control in her blood, she had to be in command.

“You think I disapprove?” Ellaira laughed, pouring herself some wine into a goblet on the table.

“I don’t know what you think.” Sansa scowled.

“Well kissing your brother is incestuous, but your cousin…” Ellaria mused. Sansa melted, her heart stopped pounding and but her lips started to shake. _Cousin?_ No, she was wrong! She was wrong! They had been brought up as siblings, Eddard Stark was Jon’s father but not Catelyn Stark’s son, and he was her half-brother. Wasn’t he? “He’s your aunt Lyanna son with Rhaegar Targaryen!”

“Stop lying to me! Why are you doing this? We’ve welcomed you in our home, why?” Sansa’s strangled cries were released from her. _No, she’s lying, he’s your brother._

“Your aunt Lyanna died from childbirth and Ned Stark returned from war with a baby, your cousin.” Ellaria was almost pleading with Sansa to make her believe the truth. Sansa was seeing more and more red each time she opened her mouth. The lies flowing from it made her want to slap it shut. “My lady, you don’t believe me? Read this.” Ellaria pulled an old scroll of paper from her sleeve and held it in front of Sansa. She snatched it from her grasp, almost breaking the seal about. It read:

I Rhaegar Targaryen, claim Jon as my son, Jon Targaryen Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne. I legitimise my son and give him my titles and my throne for all to bear witness.

Jon Targaryen, House Targaryen, Blood of the Dragon and Old Valryria.

Witnessed by:

Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.

Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch

Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell

The last name signed burned her soul and her bones. The scroll fell from her hands, she slipped down onto the floor, shaking and shaking. Her mind was speechless and blank, but her feelings were running wild with fury and sadness. Fury because she had been lied to all her life, sadness because Jon would have been murdered as a babe if this scroll had landed in the wrong hands. But it was the first time the scroll had ever been opened, after twenty one years, it was Sansa who broke the seal. The truth was unleashed to her. “Why did you let me read it?” Sansa breathed, watching Ellaria finally setting her eyes on the contents of the scroll which would change the future of everything.

“As soon as I saw you both, I knew it had to be you to see it.”

“Why would you want Jon and I to be together?” Sansa demanded, still sunken of the floor with shock. _My own father._

“Daenerys wants the throne, this scroll states that Jon is next in line for the throne and you must convince him that he doesn’t want it.”

Sansa ran her fingers through her auburn hair, picking out the strongest shades of it. There seemed to be a sigh of relief within Sansa as she realised that she hadn’t kissed her brother, it was her cousin. _There’s a chance for us._ Sansa was acting selfish, how was Jon going to react to this? How would she tell him? “Jon would never want the Iron Throne, tell Daenerys this, I don’t want him hurt.” Sansa begged.

“She wants him to swear on it and refuse his position on the throne, Daenerys will see him as a threat otherwise and will not allow him to rise up against her.” Ellaria told Sansa. But she had told Ellaria that Jon hadn’t a care about the Iron Throne, why would this scroll change anything to waver what he wants?

“Are you threatening him?”

“No I’m warning him, this is all he needs to do. The world will know who he truly is, they accept him as they’re king despite his parentage and allow you to marry. This is what you want, to be his Queen and to bear his children.” Ellaria explained, it was the truth but it was going to take a lot more than this to convince her to do anything. _Everything has a price._

“Why do you care about what I want?” Sansa murmured, now leaning up against her four poster bed as support.

“Daenerys can give me one thing I want, my lady, vengeance against the Lannister’s.” And with that Ellaira Sand shadow slipped from her room, taking the old and tainted brown scroll with her. Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand had bared four children together, they had shared not only their lives but their desires. They had dominated the world side by side, smiled smugly at the ones who frowned deeply at their relationship. They didn’t care, because they were in love. Way to soon their presence together on the earth was disrupted, as the mountain smashed Prince Oberyn’s head with his fingers peeling into his eyeballs. Ellaria widowed, although they were never married. She wanted her pain to devour Cersei’s soul, to make her grovel and mourn hysterically like Ellaria had.

Sansa was on her way to understanding why Ellaria was giving what she wanted on a silver platter, inches from her reach. But something didn’t quite add up, was it now their mutual understanding of their hatred towards Cersei? That was it. Ellaria Sand wasn’t out for the Lannister’s, not Tyrion or Jaime, but Queen Cersei. Sansa wanted her death just as much, only time would reveal why Ellaria would tell Sansa this. All this time was running out, nothing was certain. Was the past certain? A small voice whispered in her head, _the past is already written, the ink is dry._ Jon Snow was Jon Targaryen, the stories told were all false, Lyanna wasn’t kidnapped and raped by Rhaegar Targaryen. She had gone their willingly and became pregnant with little Jon, no one would have ever known if they had seen her death in childbirth coming, only the Gods. Maybe Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen were supposed to live happily and in love, drowned by their own stupidity as Rhaegar was already married to Elia Martell with their two children. _Life isn’t a song,_ Sansa soon realised why destruction had broken both their families this way.

When the whole of Westeros knew that Jon was a Targaryen, the northerner’s could rebel or bring them closer as it would unify an unbreakable bond between the Stark’s and the Targaryen’s. Perhaps this was what Rhaegar wanted of Lyanna, it was doomed from the beginning, maybe Sansa and Jon would end the same way. Peace wasn’t the way westeros would end for a happy ending Sansa always desired, they simply didn’t exist. Jon and Sansa’s marriage wouldn’t bring peace? Wouldn’t it? The thoughts and her feelings of herself began to make her feel selfish. How would Jon be feeling when he knew?

Surely Sansa was desperate for Jon to know, she would his Queen and be falling into easy love. It wasn’t easy love at all, the thought of it being easy rose a lump in her throat. Jon would go through a phase of doubt and self-hatred and ignore Sansa, thinking he would be unworthy of her love. Sansa couldn’t think of anyone one better deserving, she would feel unworthy. She was over herself thinking that Jon would even want to marry her, Sansa was already touched and he could have any woman in the world. The way Jon made Sansa feel was undeniable, the connection and pull was unobtainable, she missed his kisses and his strong arms. This made her heart shatter even more, she felt so tired of crying and thinking. Her eyes were slowly closing, the fire burned low and the candles blown out. But there was one man who signed the letter whom was still alive, Howland Reed

_It is beautiful beneath the sea. But if you stay too long, you’ll drown._

 


	9. "I wish I could tell you."

Chapter Nine

JON

Jon had hesitated outside Sansa’s door for a very long time, he was woken by her stifled cries and guards knocking on his door to ask him permission to see his sister. Jon decided to go there himself, but never forming enough courage to open her door. It wasn’t like he was going to do her any good, she could barely look at him at dinner and was heavily insulted when he offered their sister to Willias Tyrell on that she returned in a month. Sansa didn’t want to marry Willias, but she didn’t want Arya to either. His actions would mean days upon days of ignoring each other and then only when they desperately needed one another, they would stay. But Jon wanted to storm into Sansa’s room, take her into his arms and replay that moment in the Godswood forever and more. He was so tied down with it all, he started to forget about what he really should be doing as a King. None of that seemed to matter, he never wanted a crown because it meant to be for the Stark’s, not some bastard who won the battle for it. How many breaks in their relationship would it take for them to finally unwind each other close and in love? Wasn’t this how it was meant to be, Jon had said so himself, _but what is natural? Something that’s meant to be._ The kisses were still current and alive on his lips, her soft skin still lingered on his fingertips.

Jon had gritted his teeth, grabbed longclaw and battered the shit out of the dummy on the courtyards of Winterfell. The anger and the frustration was blinding, he had to let it out somehow. It was the same dummy he had been beating up before his left Winterfell for the wall, when Lady Catelyn wouldn’t allow him to dine with King Robert as it would be found _insulating a bastard at dinner._ It was also the same place he had his first meeting with Tyrion Lannister, the younger, smaller sibling of the Queen. So many things had changed, westeros had seen three kings hence and houses of the land became extinct, the army of the dead revealed. Now Jon was king in his own right, the white wolf whom had avenged the Red Wedding. This still hadn’t sunken in. His feelings for Sansa hadn’t sunk in, they still were a dream to him.

The dummy had been beaten to a pulp and ripped open, serving girls ran past as he still plundered his sword into the stump. The horses shuffled around, staring wide into Jon’s eyes. The midnight moon swung high, the snow had settled for tonight but it wouldn’t be long until the morning sun would rise and more snow would cover the landscape like a canopy cloud. In the distance, Ser Davos had been chuckling to himself watching Jon beating a bag of fluff on a pole.

“What’s the dummy ever done to you?” Ser Davos approached, chuckling. Jon tensed then soon released who it was, then began splitting the wooden pole in half.

“Better than killing a man,” Jon said, huffing as he snapped the strong pole in half like a twig.

“What are you dojng up so late?”

“I was trying to clear my head.” Jon replied, but it was going to be near impossible to with all the madness going up in there.

“How’s that going for you?” Ser Davos asked. Jon turned to him, laying longclaw beside the fence and cracking his knuckles.

“Not well.”

“I heard your dinner with Olenna Tyrell didn’t go seemingly,” Davos noted, blowing air into his hands to keep them warm.

“Sansa will not marry Willias Tyrell, nor will Arya.” Jon answered, making it clear and known to Davos.

“Willias Tyrell is nice young man and the Tyrell’s will not be pleased if they hear of your intention to marry neither of your sister’s to him.” Davos advised.

“I will not let my sisters be used as tools in a war, I have only just got Sansa back and she belongs in the North and so does Arya when she returns.” Jon explained, raising his voice expectantly. Davos raised his brows and cleared his throat, he could see the look in Jon’s eyes, it was sincere and he respected him for it. _I may have got Sansa back, but I’m pushing her away._ “They don’t know what happened to her.” Jon continued, pausing because he knew that what had happened, but she would never tell him. Ser Davos didn’t know what to say, what could he say? Jon didn’t know how to approach the subject with her, Sansa would cry almost every night and sometimes scream. Her ladies would rush to her bedside, whilst Jon stood outside the door waiting for her to go back to sleep. Jon felt now that he had taken advantage of her in the Godswood, he could have done something wrong, touched her somewhere that could have sparked the fear of the past.

“I’ve heard stories,” Ser Davos answered instead. “I understand, Jon as to why you don’t want her to marry Willias Tyrell. I’ll try to avoid any conversations of any marriages,”

“Thank-you, we plan to sign a treaty of peace when the Dragon Queen takes the Iron Throne.” Jon shook his head. “People should try wanting something else for a change.”

“If that will be all, I suggest you getting some sleep your grace, tomorrow will bring more news like it always does.” Davos nodded, plodding off into the castle doors. Jon wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, his thoughts and feelings would be wracking his brain around all night. His dreams flew all over the place, they first settled on Samwell Tarly. Jon hadn’t seen Sam in months, he often found himself wondering if he had made it to Oldtown yet with Gilly and how had they worked their lives out with little Sam. Had he found the place where he had belonged? Jon had made the right decision letting them go at that time, they could have been murdered the same night as Jon. And Melisandre wasn’t about to resurrect anyone else. Then he thought of the Night King rounding up the army of the dead, marching on the wall with a single blow of the horn it fell from its glaciers. Ygritte was always last on his mind when he was sleeping, her limp, dead body folded in his arms as the chaos at Castle Black was executed all around him. It was doomed from the start, but he loved her too much for him to stop. But in his dreams she would repeat the same phrase over and over, _you know nothing Jon Snow._ Jon never really understood what she meant by that until more opportunities would present themselves every time he was wrong.

Jon had woken up with a start, Ghost had been bashing at his door to get out. He threw the furs off of him and released his direwolf free, Ghost would often run to Sansa’s door and wait for her to let him in. Jon stretched tirelessly, staring out the window at the broken tower which Bran had fallen from, it was quite literally falling apart. The broken tower would stay the broken tower until it was no more, no one was going to bother rebuilding it. The snow had thickened, men were outside shovelling it out the way and horse drawn carts were wheeling out of view every so often. Jon quickly clothed himself and splashed cold water in his face, then brushing his teeth. Jon was eager to speak to Sansa and there was a lot on his mind he wanted to say.

Ghost wasn’t outside her door anymore, so he assumed she was awake and knocked on her door. Jon was fiddling around with his clothes and tied his hair into a loose bun at the back of his head.

“Jon is that you?” Sansa mumbled, he could hear the laughter and chatter of her ladies. It embarrassed him slightly, he thought he could perhaps come later, but what he wanted to say could not wait.

“Yes.”

“Come in.” Sansa called. She sat at her dressing table whilst Beth and Mya, her ladies were braiding her long auburn hair. They stopped immediately to bow which made Jon want to cringe, “Beth, Mya could you please leave us?” Sansa ordered softly, they did so scurrying off and watching Jon with prying eyes like they knew what had happened in the Godswood. Jon was being paranoid, Sansa’s ladies obviously knew nothing and they were just swooning over Jon’s handsome looks like many did. Sansa sat there with her back straight turned away from Jon, he could tell she didn’t want to see him particularly. Jon shut the door, he began pacing round the room feeling nervous and agitated, he found a place to lean on, the window sill.

“I’ve been thinking- He hesitated, placing his hands behind his back. “About what happened in the Godswood, at dinner, all of it?” Jon rambled, Sansa still had her back turned and her dress fitted her figure like a glove, suiting her curves perfectly. “Please look at me Sansa?” Jon demanded.

“After all that happened yesterday, I’m finding it hard to look at you in the…way I should.” Sansa cried, snapping around to face him. Jon saw her sapphire eyes stream with sore and salty tears, he ran to her and got down on his knees. “You can’t touch me like that, you know you can’t.” Sansa dodged his hands finding their way to her cheeks. Jon was left there stranded whilst she vacated to the other side of her bedroom, the magnetism between them was flowing high, forcing them together once again as he stood right in front of her.

“I’m sorry, and I’m sorry for what I said at last night. You have to understand I can’t let you marry another man.” Jon defended.

“But you would let Arya?” Sansa spat.

“No! Neither of you are!” Jon shouted, Sansa flinching. “Please Sansa, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’ll fight for you, I’ll protect you. Let me in.” Jon pleaded, holding Sansa’s face in his hands and staring into her wild eyes. She bit her bottom lip and nodded, this was what she wanted, what they both wanted. Jon pulled her in by the waist, pinning her up against the wall.

“You promise me that neither I, nor Arya will marry Lord Tyrell?” Sansa asked, burying her head in his warm, broad shoulders.

“Never.”

“Jon,” Sansa pulled away instantly. “There’s something that I must tell you, please don’t get angry but Ellaria Sand saw us in the Godswood.” Jon’s heart pounded and he grew to pacing around the room once again. “She came into my room and told me.”

“Did she threaten you with it?” Jon demanded, he wished he had never let Olenna Tyrell or the Sand Snakes through his gates. To think that a short while ago he had sent a raven asking for Dorne’s help, for them to spy on the North when they arrived, Jon wanted to start beating something up again.

“No, she said that she saw it but wasn’t going to say anything.” Sansa lied, but of course Jon would never suspect anything. Sansa continued to bite down on her lip, to stop the truth from falling from her lips. She didn’t want to hurt Jon, this would force Jon into a rage of hatred and frustration. He could even turn on her, on his allies, on the North. There was no way of telling how he would react, he would hate himself for not being Ned’s natural born son but of a dragon’s son. Jon never suspected anything of what Sansa knew, of course he knew that there was a possibility that he was the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. But was that the beauty of it? They both knew whom his parents were, if not Jon but he suspected it deep down. They couldn’t bring it up when they spoke to each other, if Jon was going to find out the real truth it wasn’t going to be like this.

“No one can hurt us anymore,” Jon soothed Sansa, cradling her in his arms again. That was a lie too, he said it convincingly enough to the point Sansa was starting to believe it. Jon could sense that there was something she wasn’t telling him, it was the same feeling when Sansa brought Littlefinger into the fold with the Knights of the Vale. Sansa’s face was an open book of feelings painted all over her. “What are you not telling me?” Jon pulled her back, his hands firmly on her waist in front of him.

Sansa was avoiding his eye contact, her blue eyes screaming with the words he wanted to hear. “Nothing, we must go downstairs to break our fast. Ser Davos and Tormund shall be wondering where you are…” Sansa paced towards the door. Jon caught up with her, slamming the door shut with too much hardness than he intended which caused Sansa to jump and panic. “Please Jon!” Sansa whispered loudly, her ladies were most probably waiting down the hallway. Jon reacted quickly to this and his hand suddenly dropped, he was immediately shocked at himself for scaring Sansa.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Jon pleaded, sighing. All he was doing was slipping up constantly, it was because he didn’t know how to act around her anymore, he wanted to touch her and talk to her without scaring her off. Sansa was damaged and delicate underneath all her strong image, “I just want you to trust me, you can tell me anything?”

 _I wish I could tell you,_ her electric blue eyes beamed. “Let me go.” Sansa instructed, Jon’s hand fell from the wooden door, with that she rushed out from underneath his arm. Jon followed her out, she had joined her ladies, and she looked back at Jon briefly before hurrying out of his gaze. There was always something deeper and more complicated going on with Sansa, it was showing to Jon how little he actually knew of her. It was the strong and powerful bond igniting them together which they both shied away from, like it would burn their skin. Jon was willingly to go near the fire, but there wasn’t a fire there keeping them apart it was the lying which was. If only they could trust to not hurt each other’s feelings, there was never going to be any guarantee of that happening.

Time and the truth were the only components that would set them free.

 

 

**Authors note***

**Does Sansa really want him to know the truth? Please comment below what you think or any questions you may have x**


	10. "You are scaring me!"

CHAPTER TEN

SANSA

Sansa decided to break her fast privately with her ladies, Beth and Mya because it was important that she spoke to them like this without any hovering servants lingering by their conversations. Jon’s flashes of anger were struck on Sansa’s mind, she was so tired of lying to him that’s why he was so impatient with her but of course he couldn’t tell. Or so she thought. It felt like a blessing from the Gods to feel his arms wrap around her torso, bringing her to his hard chest. She was truly desperate tell him the truth, but she wasn’t sure herself if it was quite what it seemed. If he was going to know there would be only one way of doing so, Sansa just had to find the scroll again. To do so she had to trust the loyalty and honesty of her ladies to succeed in what she had to do, this was the main reason she had them here now. The sun was hidden beneath the rolls of snow, it was evident by the rays beaming on the snow causing it to shimmer. The cold was catching up on them, fires were lit in their small dining room.

“My lady, why are we not dinning with your brother, the King?” Beth Cassel wondered, slicing a piece of meat politely. _Cousin, he’s my cousin,_ Sansa wanted to correct her. Beth had been talking a lot about Jon recently, it was growing suspicion and perhaps a hint of envy in Sansa’s heart. She wasn’t going to act in that way to her lady, Sansa didn’t want to bring any extra gossip on her name and her family. Mya Stone nudged her leg under the table and gave her the _shut up_ eyes, Beth was a rather outspoken girl for her own good. However, that was what Sansa liked in her, she smiled to herself.

“There’s something I need you ladies to help me with today,” Sansa proposed. Mya and Beth exchanged interested looks and Mya flicked her black hair behind her back.

“What is it?” Mya asked.

“You must not tell anyone of what we shall be doing,” Sansa instructed, eyeing the girls carefully waiting for one of them to crack. They surprised her, neither of them did, they sat leaned forward and ready for them to hear more. “I need to send a raven to the Neck.”

“Where specifically?” Beth asked, raising her brow.

“Greywater Watch, to Lord Reed.” Sansa said.

“My lady, no one has heard from Lord Howland in twenty years,” Beth considered, Mya was trying to make sense of whom they were talking about.

“I know, if I receive no word in return, I plan to travel there.” Sansa held her head high, she wasn’t going to let anyone stop her now or tell her she couldn’t do what she wanted. If Sansa was going to find out about the scroll Ellaria had given her, Sansa had to travel for the truth. This was the only way she was ever going to know if she sees the man who saw it all unfold in front of his eyes, a letter wasn’t going to define the truth. Beth and Mya gasped immediately, holding their hands over their mouth and dropping their cutlery.

“Why? Does your brother know?” Beth demanded, Mya rolled her eyes at this girl’s reactions.

“No and he won’t know Lady Beth, you shall send a raven to Greywater Watch on Princess Sansa of House Stark behalf.” Sansa ordered, narrowing her eyes. Beth wasn’t going to slip up otherwise there was going to be consequences.

“Lady Beth, you are not going to be in trouble silly girl,” Mya laughed, she was confident and cheeky of character. She was fierce with her attitude and tamed with how she held herself, she knew what game Sansa was playing even though Beth was too innocent to understand. Beth frowned at Mya before returning a nod to Sansa to accept her request, “What do you need me to do my lady?” Mya mused.

“Arrange a meeting with Nymeria and Tyene Sand.” Sansa smiled, her plan was unfolding just the way she wanted. Petyr would be proud of her, but Jon would be worried and would prevent her from leaving Winterfell.

“The Sand Snakes, would they becoming with us?” Mya asked, knotting her hands together on the table.

“The King’s road is a dangerous place, I hear they’re skilled warriors. It won’t be an easy ride Lady Beth, but I need you loyal and by my side, do you hear me?” Sansa pleaded with her. Beth looked as though she was an easily swayed young lady, she was so frightened of betraying her Princess but also her King. “We should return quickly, there is something urgent I must discuss with Lord Reed.”

“Of course, your grace I shall do anything you ask.” Beth replied, her green eyes wide with reassurance Sansa needed from her. She smiled in return.

“Good, remember no one is to suspect of our leaving Winterfell, especially my brother.” Sansa added, her tongue burning when she used the word _brother_ when referring to Jon. She didn’t want to have to leave him, she still ached for his touch and heavily regretted rejecting him this morning. She craved him like a drug, Sansa wanted to wind her fingers through his hands and their lips to mould together like snow melting in the sun. It was only way she would be able to see for herself the clarity in the scroll that not only claimed Jon as Rhaegar’s son, but labelled him the heir of the Iron Throne. Sansa hadn’t forgotten about Daenerys residence at Dragonstone with her mass army and her mythical stone-born dragons. This was the main reason why she had to make her journey fast, she had to be back by Jon’s side when she came and asked Jon to bend the knee for her claim and discuss terms of the North’s independence. The thought of leaving Jon left bitter punch sensations in her heart and stomach, their love was a bittersweet tragedy. Their one kiss was meant to be so sweet, it left cuts and holes in their hearts like open wounds. All their relationship was going to be was creeping around at night, nights of passion then by morning whilst walking past one another it would their fingers brushing by as they paced through the corridors. Sansa would pray that the scroll was the real truth, she didn’t want to live like that, what she wanted was the life Ellaria Sand described. _You shall marry and bear his children, his Queen._

Later in the day, Sansa met with her ladies again to talk about their progress in their missions which they both successfully achieved in without a doubt. Sansa and Mya were lingering in the middle of the Privy hallway which Jon would walk past at any time, Beth was quite literally running up to them almost tripping over Lord Cley Cerwyn’s foot. He charmingly grabbed her hand as she almost fell, Beth gave him a doe eyed smile as his kissed her knuckles. Sansa beamed at her to come quickly, Mya was giggling with a hand firmly over her mouth. “Oh my goodness, she has no idea how to act around men.” Mya laughed. Sansa saw something she saw in herself in Beth Cassel, innocence that she would never reclaim and her smile quickly faded.

“Did you just see that?” Beth gasped for breath, taking Sansa and Mya’s hands in her own. Sansa and Mya laughed, pulling their small group round the corner and Beth was blushing a deep crimson which made them giggle more. Sansa felt the old and familiar sensation of how it was when she was girl, to blush and get excited around men and gossip about ladies of the court. She had missed that for six years she had been away from home, Jeyne Poole was no longer here her childhood best friend, it made the laughter melt away.

“Perhaps Lady Sansa could arrange a marriage?” Mya winked towards Beth’s direction, and she beamed more and more.

“Perhaps,” Sansa agreed, a faint smile on her lips. “Did you send the raven?” Sansa asked.

“Yes, no one saw me.” Beth breathed. “What about you Lady Mya?” she added, cocking her head to the side.

“Of course, I rarely disappoint,” Mya flicked her hair down her back, “We shall be meeting them at dusk in the broken tower, they seen very interested in this venture.”

 _The broken tower, the place where Bran was pushed,_ Sansa thought. It was also the place where Brienne of Tarth asked the old woman to light a candle to signal for rescue, the old woman flayed and Sansa was forced to watch. Bran lost his use of his legs, Sansa wondered why they hadn’t just knocked it down as it served no purpose. Only tonight it would. “Thank-you my ladies I am grateful for you services as ever, they shall not go unrewarded.” Sansa acknowledged, giving their hands a little squeeze.

“Why have so many lords gathered here?” Beth asked, rising on her tip toes to look over the vast amount of people flowing into the hallway. Sansa thought this was interesting too, her eyes flittering between many faces of her bannerman.

“We must have a visitor,” Sansa concluded.

“Could it be Lady Brienne returning?” Mya Stone suggested.

“Hopefully,” Sansa breathed. Of course Sansa would have to inform Brienne of her plans to travel south to the Neck, she needed her sworn shield by her side. Brienne knew had to deal with difficult Lords, quiet ones and defensive ones. But with Brienne back at Winterfell, she could tell Sansa of her news of her Uncle the Blackfish. They had been away for weeks, even months and it was about time she and her squire Podrick had returned.

“So it is!” Beth called, as the horns blew loud and clear. Brienne marched tall and strong in the hallway, her blonde hair had grown and her face dirty. Podrick was attempting to catch up, his strides not the same length as hers. He was balancing a helm, sword and boots in his hands and was failing terribly. Sansa’s eyes filled with happiness and rushed to their side at once, she grabbed Brienne’s hands to hers and smiling up at her.

“Lady Sansa,” Brienne bowed graciously. Podrick Payne bowed and with that the contents of his full arms clattered to the ground. Brienne shook her head and rolled her eyes, “I must speak with you alone at once,” Brienne requested.

“Of course, how are you? How was the Uncle, does he still lay siege with the Lannisters?” Sansa beamed, far too excited to see the regret in Brienne’s eyes.

“What is it Lady Brienne?” Sansa asked, her head tilting to the side.

Sansa had excused her ladies to later meet with her after dinner at the broken tower as they had arranged with the Sand Snakes, the lords in the Winterfell large hallway had greeted Brienne of Tarth’s return. They had settled in Sansa’s quarters, whilst Brienne and Podrick rested and had something to eat. Sansa was growing to detect that something was wrong, anxiety rose in her blood.

“Your Uncle was beaten, the Jaime Lannister’s have retaken his ancestral seat, I am sorry Lady Sansa.” Brienne said, meaning ever word she spoke with her voice filling with shame of her failure.

“My uncle is dead.” Sansa stated, it couldn’t be a question to which she already knew the answer to. Sansa couldn’t cry any more tears than she had, there wasn’t any left and like crying after a dead was ever going to bring them back.

“Yes, he died fighing. I tried to get him to leave for Winterfell, but he would have never have left his home.” Brienne told her.

“I shouldn’t have expected he to, you were hurt were you Brienne?” Sansa asked.

“No,” Brienne shook her head, “I am pleased to see you back at Winterfell, I see your brother is now his grace,” Brienne noted.

“Yes,” Sansa said, pouring wine for herself, Brienne and Podrick whom was standing by the door patiently looking awkwardly round for a seat. “You may sit with us Podrick, you must be tired.” Sansa said, giggling to herself softly. He stumbled around before settling down in a chair facing towards the conversation from afar, he nodded politely and sipped at his wine goblet, brown eyes widening as he gulped it down fairly quickly.

“I hear the Knights of the Vale came on your calling,” Brienne noted, not drinking a single drop of wine placed in front of her. “That you and your brother now fight for the Dragon Queen, and you’ve associated yourself with another marriage alliance.”

“Do you judge me?” Sansa asked, folding her hands.

“I only worry for your safety my lady,”

“I’m not going to marry anyone, neither is Arya or Jon.” Sansa said. _And he’s not my brother._ “But I must speak to you, it is a matter of importance”

“Go on,” Brienne urged her.

“I wish to travel to Greywater Watch to seek Lord Howland Reed,” Sansa claimed, straightening her back and remembering her purpose.

“Why there? Does his grace know of your intentions?” Brienne’s brows furrowed, leaning forward.

“No,” Sansa hesitated. “I don’t want him to know,”

“You are the Princess of Winterfell, how do you propose you leaving without your brother knowing?” Brienne asked. _He’s not my brother!_ Sansa wanted to shout to the world, even though there was only one person she should be telling and that was Jon.

“I don’t know,” Sansa admitted, because Brienne was right. It was going to be near impossible escape these walls, but not as impossible as it was to leave King’s Landing. A sharp pain twisted in Sansa’s stomach, the sudden wash of realisation that she shouldn’t be leaving Jon, she should be falling to his knees and telling him the truth. The tears were trying to burst from her eyes, but she fought them with every inch of strength, the truth was paramount. But wasn’t Jon as well? _The things we do for love._ “I’ve sent a raven to Greywater watch asking for Howland Reed commanding he come to Winterfell, if he does reply we must travel there. There’s something I must ask him,” Sansa explained.

“Send me instead, this isn’t worth risking your relationship with your brother. The Tyrell’s are here, along with the woman from Dorne whom murdered her prince? You can’t leave him,” Brienne complained.

“He’s not my brother!” The room seemed to freeze, as the people in the room were overwhelmed with Sansa’s words. Brienne face stood still and shocked, cold sweat dripping from her forehead with her mouth wide open, mid-speech. “Brienne, he’s my cousin!” Sansa cried, clutching her stomach.

“My lady, what makes you say that?” Brienne asked, puzzled.

“Because its true,” Sansa’s tears scrolling down her cheeks, “I must speak to Howland Reed, he’s the only one still alive whom knows the truth,” Sansa could not believe the words falling from her lips, she had admitted it loud and clear, she scrunched up her long skirts in her hands and let out a deep breath of relief. It wasn’t relief at all though, it was a breath of pressure.

“Podrick, you forget a word you’ve heard, stand outside the door and keep guard,” Brienne ordered, watching young Podrick scramble away quickly almost tripping on his own feet. The wooden door buckled shut, whilst Sansa told Brienne everything that had happened since her leaving. Sansa didn’t leave out anything, not even her new found complicated and tragic feelings for Jon. Neither did she leave out her tears, there were many or the threat of Daenerys commanding Jon to disown his claim to the Iron Throne. And Ellaria proposition for Sansa and Jon’s marriage which Jon had no knowledge of, he was in the dark but had idea of how stuck he was in it. Telling Brienne of their intimate kiss of the Godswood was by far the most awkward thing she had to tell her, but Brienne never pulled a disgusted face or hinted at her judging thoughts that were swarming her head. Or of what she thought of Jon’s parentage, that he was the natural born son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark and that Eddard Stark kept the secret to his grave. Sansa felt the immense pressure raise of her heart as she explained in detail her experiences, but it would never be enough compared to when she would tell Jon. The thought made her heart clench and rip from its arteries, the pain of her heart breaking was immeasurable. Sansa never thought it was possible to love someone this much, there was so much she was holding back and it would be long time coming for release. _I’ve wanted you for so long,_ she remembered him growling against their crushing lip which caused her cheeks to blush violently.

_They’ll kill us both!_

_No one will touch you, I’ll protect you._

_You can’t touch me like that, you know you can’t!_

_Let me in._

Sansa had found love where it wasn’t supposed to be, in a way which should have been sickening and twisted. It never was, from the moment at Castle Black seeing Jon after five long years and throwing her arms around him as he clutched her to his chest. They were two stones striking a spark when they should have been dead and blunt, they could drag each other through hell but they would forever be by their side. It wasn’t love her love ripping her apart, in fact it was binding her to him but she was frightened of getting to close. The lying was ripping her apart, throwing her to the flames and made the agony of pain turning into something ugly more and more each day.

For now Brienne would deal with the Sand Snakes, Howland Reed like they had agreed. It was time to tell Jon, to fall on her knees and beg for him. _I’ve got my mind made up this time, no more setting fires in my head._ Sansa would be crossing her heart and hoping to die for Jon’s salvation and acceptance of who he was, but also to forgive Sansa for hiding this from him. Sansa stood outside his door, she let her hand fall to the door to knock. The scroll from Ellaria Sand heavy in her grasp.

“Jon?” Sansa breathed. His black curls matted from sweat from sitting by the fire, his eyes sparkling with little hope and love for Sansa. He grabbed her hands, pulling her into his heated chamber. His lips imprinted with all the words he wanted to say, Sansa placed a slender finger to his mouth to silence him. “There was something which I should have told you,” Sansa told the truth like a flutter of rain falling on a hill and it gradually grew stormy as more truths were unveiled. The light falling from his eyes, the words were stuck in his throat and his jaw clenching and his fists balling in anger.

 _Don’t shut me out, please don’t push me away!_ The four poster bed was smashed into splinters and a chair was beaten across the room, Sansa ran to the door to avoid his lashes out of his temper. The wrath seemed never ending, Sansa saw a different sight in his eyes, the darkness of people lies. He asked for the scroll, snatching it from Sansa’s shaking hands and read it out loud and cursing before slamming it down to her feet. “Please Jon, your scaring me!”

“Jon Targaryen,” He spat, slumping down into an unharmed chair. “My grandfather killed my grandfather, my father in my uncle, my aunt is my mother and Rhaegar is my father!” Jon roared, kicking another chair causing it fly across the room. Sansa jumped again in fear, her heart beat was ricocheting and hammering against her rib cage, nothing had prepared her for this. “I’m sorry Sansa, please forgive me- I-I didn’t mean to frighten you!” He sunk to his knees and begged for her forgiveness. Something that Sansa had been predicting but the other way round, she grabbed his shoulders and also fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck. The atmosphere of anger, emotion and panic seemed to settle down in the room but Sansa had seen a darkness in Jon she hadn’t suspected and it caused fear to seep into her bones. “I would never hurt you, don’t leave me please,”

_I’ll never leave your side again._

 

**_Authors note*_ **

**_I'm sorry I took longer to update, this chapter was really emotional to write so I needed extra time._ **

**_Please let me know what you think in the comments, thank-you so much for your support._ **

**_x_ **


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JON

It had been several long, excruciatingly painful and bone shattering minutes. The gravity of the situation still hung heavy in the air, it was no longer a war zone, only in his mind. His whole existence was based a dirty lie, his worth was a forbidden secret, a product of an outlawed tragic love and ugly veracity. _You may not have my name, but you have my blood._ But the blood running through Jon’s veins was plagued and infected by dragons, the wolf kept at bay. So Jon raged on, thrashing and inflicted his exasperation on furniture in his chamber and demonstrating his anger towards the person he loved most. Sansa saw the danger in his eyes more so than Jon could feel it burning his sockets. But hadn’t he heard the rumour once before, when Ellaria Sand told him of the circulating tales around Westeros? Reading the damned scroll made him open his eyes from the times they were closed from the lies. Jon couldn’t question the scroll of its honesty, because he knew it was legitimate in his bones. Jon was vulnerable, the sudden realisation of Catelyn Stark’s unmotherly and cold glances was because she believed that her honourable husband Ned Stark would lie with another woman and come home with a southern bastard. Or was it that he had been the bastard orphan all his life, and that he became a Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch to then only be murdered. Jon was nothing but a shamed bastard of the noble Eddard Stark whom paid the price of that every day, until now he was handed his uncertain future as Jon Targaryen. A name he would spit on, a name that would make him his worst enemy. But a man whom would prosper for goodness and of love and of warfare. His mother Lyanna Stark was said to be _beautiful and dead before her time,_ his father Rhaegar was said to have stolen her away and raped her in the night. Jon wanted to be sick that he could be a product of that sort, but the scroll suggested otherwise. Perhaps, Lyanna and Rhaegar were banned lovers and before Rhaegar died he promised to make their son the heir to the Iron Throne. _Promise me Ned._

“Jon talk to me,” Sansa demanded, forcing his hands to cup around a goblet of much needed alcohol. “Please, I can’t see you like this.” Sansa begged, throwing herself to her knees.

“Then don’t.” Jon spat back at her, throwing back the drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. Sansa’s face crumbled and strained, trying to force the tears back into her eyes, nothing seemed to work. “You may leave if you find me shameful, as your King I release you,” Jon commanded, his tone of authority and lack of emotion causing Sansa to shake her head.

“No Jon, as your sister I am obliged to stay,” Sansa rose to her feet, but something sunk in her heart. _Not sister, cousin._

“But you’re not, and once again I have made you disgusted and frightened of who I am.” Jon snapped back coldly.

“I would never think those words and don’t you dare forget who you are Jon. You are my brother, you are a Stark no matter the words written on that page!” Sansa cried. “I love you Jon can’t you see that? It doesn’t matter what your name is to me, you’re not pushing me away!”

“The world will not see it that way, the people behind that door have heard it all! I’m the dragon’s bastard-“ Jon roared in her face, stopping mid-sentence as he had just registered what she had just said. Her face breaking with the tears, but her strength never broke not matter how mad me sounded and frightened her it would never make her back down. _She loves me._ “You said you love me?” Jon’s voice crept low, his hands winding around her waist, pulling her towards him. She gave in the lightening in her striking fearless and relentless inside of her, never fearing anything or anyone. Sansa nodded her head, her breathing ragged as Jon intoxicated her with his overwhelming presence. It would only take a fraction of space to meet their lips together, his eyes focusing on her own. He bit down on lip firmly, holding his forehead against hers and winding his fingers in her auburn locks. Jon groaned inwardly as Sansa gasped when his hands snapped back to her waist, her eyes blinking vividly.

“We can’t, you know this isn’t the right way of doing things,” Sansa pressed, Jon breathe blowing hot air on her cheeks, raising goose bumps on her neck. Their lips ached for them to connect it had been too long since they first had, “You are not in the right frame of mind,”

It was true Jon wasn’t he wasn’t only frustrated and outraged, but he was wanting something he would take for his own in a way which wasn’t proper. Lustful and anger weren’t a good combination, always. “You’re probably right,” Jon smiled darkly, releasing his strong grip on her waist.

“I want you to remember something Jon, you have the blood of the Stark’s and we are bound to it together. You may not feel it now, but your still breathing it and living this, don’t let this turn you into something you’re not.” Sansa said, sealing her lips to his cheek. And with that Sansa slipped from his chamber, placing the powerful scroll in his palms. Jon left to his own dangerous devices, like a loose cannon but a tame one. Instead of releasing his anger out more, he drank away the night and curious questions popped in his head. Jon was seated in front of the blazing, hot flames of the fireplace, idling the flames licking the flaking wood logs. The fire breaking a sweat of his forehead, he began wondering ridiculous imagines of him touching the flames with his fingers and not feeling any agonising burns. Would Jon risk those imagines but presenting them in reality? If he really was the blood of the dragon, surely the flames would not graze his skin. Sansa’s wise words lingered, _you are not in the right frame of mind,_ she was right he was not.

So much was going to change, he couldn’t just sit here whilst the many ears of the castle were hovering for him to come out. Jon thought he would no longer be King as he nobles and bannerman would not accept him to have that right, he would be shamed as the bastard Prince of the Dragon. As far as the North knew, Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna Stark and raped her at the Tower of Joy which had begun the war of Robert’s Rebellion. Sparked so many deaths written for the future, a babe whom was murdered as a man, who was never thought to be the Prince that was promised. The truth was an ugly subject, but lies were the recipe of greater evil and darkness. Suddenly, Jon realised that the three things that gave him purpose in life were at threat: his home, the old scroll of his parentage and Sansa. His home was supported by many great lords, Sansa would surely be crowned Queen of the North because she was worthy and beautiful. The scroll would show that he was a competitor for the Iron Throne, something he didn’t want. Neither, he thought he deserved. Sansa Stark was the one woman in the world that loved him the same, her innocence and her boldness were admirable. The way she held herself, radiating qualities of beauty and love. Jon was now liable to ask her hand in marriage, he wasn’t going to realise this for himself for quite some time.

A pounding knock throttled his door, _they’re going to throw me out of Winterfell._ Jon decided to deliberately ignore the call, but the door was taking some more beatings. “Your grace?” Davos shouted through the keyhole, “I know you’re in there Jon, for fuck sakes.” He grumbled. “Shut up,” He hushed several people behind him, the voices silencing almost immediately. Jon still proceeded to not reply. “Leave this to me, go!” The sound of feet thumping and shuffling away made clear that it was only Davos there, Jon was in no mood to speak to anyone. “Jon, I don’t know how you must be feeling but we must speak at once, the entire castle has heard of this, soon it shall be the entire North-“Davos complained, at that moment Jon swung the door open. The look of Davos’s face was tired and red, he huffed quietly before stepping into the chamber and Jon slammed the door quickly behind him.

“What am I to do?” Jon asked, slumping back in his seat and handed the scroll of his legitimacy. Davos’s eyes widened and his brows rose at he read the contents, the shock was clearly displayed all over his face, but wasn’t merely surprised as he had heard of all the rumours. The only things he found completely overwhelming was that Jon was the next heir to the Iron Throne.

“The Tyrells and the Sand Snakes knew of this all along, they say the Dragon Queen finds you a threat to her rule,” Davos explained the same of which to Jon’s knowledge.

“Word does indeed travel fast,” Jon replied, “I have no interest in the Iron Throne.”

“But this shows clearly of what your father would have wanted,” Davos pondered.

“Ned Stark was meant to be my father, not Rhaegar Targaryen.” Jon finalised it. Jon wondered if Davos was right, but it was recklessly stupid for wanting such a thing he never could have or wanted. “All I want to know is what happens from here?” Jon demanded. Ned Stark wouldn’t want this for him, but it suggested that he intended Jon to find out. Perhaps, it was something Rhaegar and Lyanna wanted, but they would never know, maybe not even now.

“I shall call your banners and your sister, they need to see this for themselves.”

 

Jon had thought it too late in the night to call such a meeting to discuss anything final, but he agreed with Davos that if they should find out, this was the way to do it. The scroll was the only way to which would seal his fate, but their words would secure his future at Winterfell. At this current time and situation Jon didn’t seem to care about what happened to him, his life had just been turned on its head. He wished that this meeting could be put off with his bannerman, responsibility was filling his head. Once again his hands were tied, but he had to remain who he always was. Jon Snow wouldn’t let this rule through him and claim who he had become, Stark blood coursed through his veins. But what about Jon Targaryen, this name was going to change everything he knew, his history and his present. Was he to be judged like the other Targaryen’s, did the God’s flip a coin for madness when Jon was born? Or was the Stark blood in him keeping him sane? If he was so worried about accepting himself that was the least of his problems in his head. How was the North going to accept him?

The atmosphere entering the Great Hall of Winterfell felt as though Jon was standing for his many crimes that he was committing as Jon Targaryen. The eyes of many northern lords, Manderly, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Lady Mormont, the eyes staring coldly and filled with a tinge of fury. The alert eyes and glances of the Sand Snakes which were raising anxiety in Jon’s skin, Lady Olenna Tyrell stunned. Tormund and other wildlings hadn’t been bothered of the rumours, they were suspicious of his father the Dragon Prince they had heard tales of. Next it was Sansa rushing to him, clutching his hands in her own. Jon wondered how the North had got so incredibly hot, he wiped the sweat from his brow quickly and licked his lips. It must had been the fires blaring non- stop since the announcement of winter, Jon realised now that he much preferred the cold. A flash of his murder scene at Castle Black struck his mind, _they’re not here to kill me._

“Sansa,” He breathed, his hand cupping her cheek rather too affectionately in front of their audience. Sansa allowed it there for a moment before taking it back into her hands, “I’m sorry I know I shouldn’t, there’s something I must tell you if they proclaim you Queen, take it.” Jon whispered quickly. Sansa raised her eyebrows and opened her full lips into complaint, her electric blue eyes glowing bright in his sight. “For me?” Jon whispered, almost begging. Sansa hesitated before nodding, Jon knew that it was the right thing to do, he never wanted to be King. Only to be accepted as what he was, a bastard. Unfortunately for him neither was going to happen, but he doubted himself so unnecessarily. Little did Jon know that the North knew he was the blood of the Stark’s.

“No Jon you are their King, I’m not taking that from you,” Sansa parted from him, enclosing the scroll into her grasp. Jon didn’t understand what she was doing, but it was too late for him to find out before everyone else would know. The meeting had already commenced, the scroll was passed around for all to see. Jon’s conscience was clear for all to seek, he closed his eyes as his verdict was considered. He didn’t want to see the judgement painted on their faces or the disgust of his Targaryen blood, but no such faces were there. He stood alone in front of a huge audience, the pressure weighing down on his shoulders making him feel like the smallest man who ever walked the earth. Jon crucially believed that if he was ever going to accept himself, others had to first. “My Lords and Ladies, you have read it all. Witnessed by Lord Eddard Stark himself, signed and you all know his hand.” Sansa announced, Jon slowly opened his tightly shut eyes.

“Aye,” Lord Cerwyn called, “Lord Eddard Stark and Lyanna Stark’s blood in front of us.”

Jon breathed a sigh of relief, he relaxed his shoulders and threw Sansa a smile of hope. The whole audience seemed to unwind, Ellaria Sand smiled too, her plan seemed to working to her pleasure, and exactly how she wanted it to happen. However their seemed to be mixed reviews, the chatter was loud and clearly displayed their feelings on the matter. Jon heard the words mutter of _Targaryen madness, tower of Joy, Rhaegar and Lyanna lovers?_ Sansa stood beside him, holding hands whilst they stared into each other’s eyes and supporting each other by their presence. For a while, none of this seemed to matter, not his name or who his father was or who was looking at them right now. If they could make it through the night, they could meet in the middle to keep their love alive. They could give each other exactly what they wanted, Sansa was willing to do anything to support Jon as King. _A King was nothing without his Queen._ And in this moment all the moon and stars seemed to align, whenever they faced a problem they collided together.

   “Jon, you should have some rest, you’re shaking.” Sansa breathed, pulling him to aside from their peering audience.

Jon hadn’t noticed that he was quite literally quaking in his bones, but it wasn’t going to prevent him in clearing his name. They had crowned him their King for a reason, it wasn’t going to change that. His name may be Jon Targaryen, but Jon Snow had won the war and saved his sister. Jon Snow and Jon Targaryen were the same person, and if Sansa and Ser Davos and even Tormund could see that why else could the world cannot? “I can’t imagine how you must be thinking of me,” Jon begun, parting from Sansa and taking the centre of the hall. All eager eyes were focused on his every movement and were hanging off his every word.

“I wish for you not to think that I am any less of the man who helped to win this war, you all saw what Ned Stark saw in me,” Jon continued, glancing at Sansa for recognition of what he was saying. She nodded gracefully in return with a sweet and wilful smile. “I would have fought and died for this Kingdom as Jon Snow, the bastard of the north. I would refuse my titles of the next heir of the Iron Throne and devote myself to my kin and my country.” The belief in himself rung through the room, the atmosphere lifted like the chaotic fog that had been placed on it once before. The lords and ladies of the room exchanged pleased glances, all of those would never mean enough compared to the looks of Sansa. She stood there with her lips parted and clearly amazed by his words, it was an honourable thing he was doing.

“I also know that some may not accept me here, and now. But I believe that’s what Lord Eddard would have wanted for his nephew, or at least I hope so,” Jon laughed, suggestively and attempting to rise the mood. There were a few murmurs of laughter, but there were more nods of agreement. Jon wasn’t always for words of great power, but ones of great influence. He stood there waiting for there to be mention from his lords as he had nothing more to say in his defence. Instead, he turned to Sansa’s gleaming face to support.

“What does this mean for our pact with the Dragon Queen, your grace?” Lord Glover demanded, holding the scroll into clear view. There were gestures of acknowledgement of that too, words wondering if that meant Jon was a threat to her reign or if it would work in the north’s advantage. Jon’s suddenly victorious world seemed to fall as Ellaria Sand appeared into the calming storm, her vicious eyes circulating the room.

“Daenerys Targaryen demands Prince Jon to renounce his claim to the Iron Throne, so he shall be free to marry into this family,” Ellaria mused, flicking her skirts and smirking at the northern lords. Jon’s heart dropped to his mouth, _no she can’t be suggesting this out loud._ Jon threw a dramatic glance to Sansa in desperation, things were either going to looking up or down for them in this situation. Nothing was certain, the future was now indeed going to be hanging in the balance of the next words spoken in this hall. Davos shot looks between Jon and Sansa and began adding everything up which Ellaria Sand had said. _Marry into this family._ In this moment it clicked into every person’s head in the hall, Lady Olenna was in a deep fury that now her own pact between the Stark’s and the Tyrell’s was descending into a great downfall.

But it had already clicked in Jon and Sansa’s minds and their eyes snapped up to meet each other. They seemed clearly not ready to feel so exposed, they enjoyed the comfort of being a forbidden secret. The tension of their love and passion was going to be sliced in half and thrown in the deep end. They say love is meant to set you free, but they seemed to be entangled so recklessly that they had forgotten had to fly. A bird who never grows its wings will never take flight.

 

 

**Authors note***

**Long-time no see...sorry for taking so long to update. Thank-you as ever for your support and your comments (which I am getting round to replying to).**

**This was a pretty complicated chapter to write, I had to drop a bit of a bombshell at the end to change the atmosphere around. I hope you are still enjoying this, let me know what you think.**

**P.S I'm sorry if this hasn't led up to any expectations of how Jon was going to find out or how the north reacted to this. Still I've worked hard and I still hope you like it.**

**xxxxxxx**


	12. "A soul to hear"

CHAPTER 12

SANSA

 

It was now coming up to the early hours of the disturbed morning, too much had been discussed and proposed at such a late hour. Sansa’s emotions were running drastically high, much like Jon’s were at the mention of marriage. Many major events of war, more alliances and new broken ones were also thrown onto the table. But conversations like these at this time were the ones Sansa did not want to be involved with. The whole of the great hall were stunned by the news, Jon’s words had certainly won them over. The chants of the northern lords still echoed in Sansa’s ears, but they weren’t shouting her name. Next the crowds at erupted into brawls about what Ellaria had meant by Jon marrying into the family, but they knew, of course they knew. For Sansa and Jon to be married would certainly unify the Stark’s and the Targaryen’s and the north and the south. But Sansa wasn’t too keen to be forced into a marriage she wasn’t ready for. This was what she wanted though wasn’t it? The feeling of doubt was plastered on her mind, but as always her heart leaned to the person she loved the most. Part of Sansa was praying that Jon would fall to his knees then and there and beg for her hand, but on the other hand she wanted to be as far away as she possibly could be from him. Sansa felt she should be screaming at herself in opposition, however, the aspect of marriage frightened her. Was it the thought of marriage itself that scared her or was it Jon? She saw the darkness in him as he elevated his anger toward her, the rage and wrath which could strike at any moment. This wasn’t the real Jon, the real Jon was perhaps a little brooding and awkward, but had a kind and hard-loving heart. And every time their skin caught contact it would almost set them alight with intrigue for each other. Sansa wondered a daring thought, what is Jon Targaryen was born in that rage? What if Jon Snow died a long time ago when he was stabbed to death by his brothers at Castle Black? _No, Jon is Jon and I trust him._

Sansa’s anxiety was beginning to rocket to the skies, there was so much pressure and difficulty and she wished she could run from it all. But the morning was just the start of the diabolical and crazed future, as soon many lords and ladies and people across the land would start demanding her answers. Firstly, it would a very irritated Olenna Tyrell exhausting Sansa’s presence immediately from when she had woken. However, it had been almost an hour since Sansa had risen and she was dressing rather slowly on her own before meeting her. Sansa could see this as the day the Tyrell’s marched south back home, it could be a blessing in disguise or grudge held by the Tyrell’s against the Stark’s for a very long time. In King’s Landing the relationship between Lady Olenna and Sansa had been fair and were kind to one another, some occasions Olenna Tyrell had protected Sansa by casting her away sometimes from the raging Lannister’s clutches. Surely they couldn’t break faith today. Perhaps they should not, after all Sansa was going to tell her about her love for Jon. Quite obviously too many people were beginning to see it, there was no use hiding anymore.

“Lady Sansa,” Olenna called, unable to rise from her seat. Sansa had finally plucked up enough much needed courage to enter Olenna Tyrell’s guest solar in the Castle. She had already been pacing behind her door for a few moment trying to talk herself down it calmness, Sansa held Olenna’s old and frail hands for a moment before taking the seat in front of her. “I cannot quite believe last night,”

_Neither could I._

“That Ellaria Sand double crossed me with her intentions for you and your brother to marry, leaving my grandson and our alliance pushed aside,” Lady Olenna’s word grew more harshly as she spoke, biting just as hard as the cold wind blowing through the stoned windows. It wasn’t like Sansa had been particularly been rehearsing the words she was going to say, now they were going to tumble out from her mouth.

“I promised Jon that I would never leave his side,” Sansa composed herself with every effort, but it didn’t stop her tears welling up. Olenna narrowed her eyes, nothing of which Sansa was going to tell her was going to make her happy.

“We still had an alliance, you or your sister were supposed to marry my grandson and now I have nothing.”

“I love him, my lady and nothing you say to me is going to sway that.” Sansa held her chin up high. Her confession of love was warming every sense of her body, Sansa could feel how free it was saying it out loud and no one telling her of how disgusting it would to feel that way.

“Does he love you?” Olenna demanded. It wasn’t like no one could sense the amount of chemistry and atmosphere filling the air, Olenna knew, she wasn’t stupid. Sansa was taken aback from her question, it felt like an insult which was seeping and biting into her skin.

“I know he does.” Sansa replied bluntly, she didn’t like how nasty this conversation was heading. There was nothing more she wanted than to storm out like a child whom had lost her way, but the woman remained as always like uncarved stone.

“So he was told you that has he?”

“No,” Sansa pathetically whispered, he hadn’t told her that.

“I haven’t heard any Queen in the North being called anywhere, because it was you who saved the battle wasn’t it? Rallying the Knights of the Vale to your cause.” Olenna mused, folding her hands and leaned forward to speculate into Sansa’s anxious eyes. “You saved the North, not your brother.” She scoffed. There was so much dreariness and dead anger in her eyes when she spoke, the old Olenna Tyrell would have never have spoken to Sansa in this way to manipulate a reaction which would spark an uproar. Olenna had lost the future of her house and was intending of doing anything to regain its strengths, even if it meant being spiteful and venomous. The Queen of Thorns would always lead up to her name and more. However, placing ideas in Sansa’s head would not leave without consequences. Hadn’t Sansa always wanted to be Queen and now it was being handed to her, how was she going to take it? She was afraid of taking it for granted and also ruining it all. Indeed no one had really recognised Sansa’s battle saviours, only Jon but even then he had told no other lord of her devotion to winning the battle. After all, she had charged the Knights of the Vale when all was thought to be lost and succeeded in slaughtering the Boltons to the earth. _I’m not going back there alive,_ she took a risk by pleading for Baelish’s help. It had paid off better than she had hoped, but they had still crowned Jon King in the North instead. At first, jealously of this had bitten away at her because it wasn’t his crown to hold and the height of rivalry was at its peak. Now that feeling had faded and now Lady Olenna was tearing up old wounds.

“I don’t wish to further this conversation, I will no longer hear of my marriage to your grandson. My duty is to my King and the North.” Sansa rose, speaking with enough authority which made her feel that she had an ounce more than Olenna had.

“We had an understanding-“ Olenna proceeded.

“You may stay in Winterfell until you have made arrangements to depart, I’m sorry my lady, I really am.” Sansa said gravely. It was going to be extremely hard for many to understand, Sansa would never leave Winterfell again. Marrying Willias Tyrell would make sure that she was going to break that promise, because she knew that she may never return. She didn’t want to marry Willias Tyrell, or be Lady of Highgarden and wear dresses printed with the sigil that wasn’t her own. When she looked upon the Lady Olenna’s face, Sansa was instantly filled with regret of her refusal of any sort of alliance with the Tyrell’s. Olenna was the old, sharp tongued and kind woman whom Sansa had confided in when she was the Lannister’s prisoner. But if Sansa was ever going to get what she truly wanted, it mean for her to be selfish.

Sansa wanted the freezing air tickling her neck, the winter’s kiss from Jon’s lips and to be tangled in love with the furs of the North with him. But she also wanted his untameable warmth and hardness of his chest on her, making her feel security and protection. Sansa was destined to Queen ever since she was a little girl, Jon was fated for something greater than a throne.

“Lady Stark,” Olenna icily addressed Sansa, causing her to snap around at her sharpness. “I knew you as a young girl, scared and alone and now you are a woman, a rightful Queen in your own name. You think marrying your cousin will make you safe?” Lady Olenna almost threatened.

“What do you mean?” Sansa snapped back.

“Daenerys Targaryen means to marry him, she wouldn’t be ruling seven Kingdoms without him. She wasn’t ever going to let the North be independent, and you will be cast aside.” Olenna’s words bite Sansa deep, they were beginning to make her feel sick. Sansa kept repeating to herself, _she’s lying and Jon would never do that to me because he loves me, doesn’t he?_ The shakes were taking over her body, she clutched her hands before Olenna would see her trembling, she didn’t understand why Lady Olenna would say such things. “But I can give you a home, a loving husband whom shall give you beautiful children-“

“This is my home, I shall marry Jon and I will not be fooled any longer with words of no meaning.” Sansa argued, her head held high and her trembling body stronger with every reassuring breathe she took. “Good day Lady Olenna.” After than she bite her tongue, a lady of grace should never fall twice. The whirled round and slammed the door behind her, it felt freeing but at the same time exposed. Her heart was open, but her conscience wasn’t clear as long as she avoided Jon. Sansa contemplated on whether Olenna spoke the truth of Daenery’s intentions of marrying Jon, she thought she knew how to tell if someone was lying or not. Perhaps Sansa didn’t have any idea at all, she had forgotten everything Petyr had taught her and buried the sense of mysteriousness. Now this was why she felt exposed, the North wasn’t King Landing but were her feelings clear on her face? Was she an open book and unprotected. Jon wasn’t far from where she was now standing, a few paces down the hall and a knock on his door.

The butterflies fluttered in her stomach, the anxiety rose in her system and her body begged for his touch. But there were too many people to see her enter his room, she turned on her heels and fled to the Godswood.

_Now the reins weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear._

 

 

**Authors note***

**I am so so so sorry for taking so long to update, I've just started college and I'm really busy.**

**I hope you forgive me!**

**Enjoy xx**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

JON

Was this now Jon’s life? Answering all the demands of his lords and nobles, they’re questions filled with uncertainty. Their ideas pilling up on his table of power, politics and positions, no matter how long he stayed away from the subjects of being King these problems would continue to form at his door. Jon stared at the long queue of people of the north, farmers, minor nobles, masons, wildlings and people of his cold kingdom all wanting to see _Jon Targaryen, King in the North._ Many came to pay tax, requests from the crown, bring criminals to justice, escaped Bolton soldiers were also brought and above all, swear fealty to Jon. There were some peasants asking for shelter from the winter, cries of devastation from the tales of the Long Night once again approaching. But these were not tales.

“How will I protect my children, the Bolton soldiers have raided our homes? You talk of white walkers coming?” the young man stood before him, ragged and face dripped with cold sweat. His wife standing next to him, a babe in her arms, crying furiously and the younger tugging at her skirts. They looked frightened, Jon was afraid for them and the younger ones. This was how he had predicted the long night, the young, the old, the men and women and the sick piling up at his door and Jon could only hold his hands up in surrender. _How do I protect the living from the dead?_ Jon sat there still staring into their lost and worried eyes, the young boy shied away hiding his face in his mother’s skirts. _How do I protect my own? Sansa._ He then watched the whistling freezing winds curling round the windows and the snow hammering at the glass, the white was clouded like how Jon’s was. The woman coughed, the babe squealed and the man soothed his wives back.

“I shall have my masters and healers visit you in your homes, guards shall be positioned in your area.” Jon announced, Davos and Lord Cerwyn looked as though they were about to intervene. The judgement had been settled, the family were the last ones for this morning and there would surely be more complaints to deal with from the next sunrise. Jon was itching to Sansa, they had met eyes earlier in the hallways with the constant eyes watching them both. Lords and Ladies had their talk of their union, it was far too public to speak to each other at court, and Jon hated this. Love wasn’t supposed to be like this, their situation presented them with challenges that were tying them down consistently, tripping them up and never landing in his arms. The threats were evident, the cold winds rising, the pleas of his people, the rage from the south and the love in his heart splitting him open.

It wasn’t a question of his own stability anymore, too many lives were relying on his not breaking. The people of the North, the lords and ladies laid on his every word, he was looking for advice, he knew of war and provisions, protection not poverty and not politics. It was barely noon and the heavy burden had been forced upon his shoulders, there had to be balance and order or else all would fall. Jon had dismissed his audience, his key advisors hovered over him feeding his mind of the knowledge of the North and beyond. “Lady Olenna is to leave the north,” Davos addressed. “Your alliance has been called off, she has no more need to remain her and she would be better help to us in the south.”

“Sansa has called it off.” Jon breathed, almost in a sigh of relief. Davos flittered his eyes across to the other lords circling the halls, beckoning them to leave. “My lords, you may take your leave, thank-you for your help.” They all nodded and slowly left one attempting to hear a few words of the King’s newly announced cousin, Jon cracked his knuckles in frustration and was desperate to see _his_ Sansa, although he wasn’t sure if she would even let him. The uncertainty was killing him.

“What has happened with Lady Sansa?” Davos asked, Jon watched his eyebrows furrow and his face grow red by the heat from the blazing fireplace. Jon heavily wished he could avoid his questions, he wanted to keep his feelings between himself and Sansa. They were something else, private and things could be intimate and not to be exploited by chatter.

“Nothing, my lord.” Jon mumbled, gulping down a huge sip of ale.

“You’ve barely spoken to her these past few days.” Davos noted.

“Too many people have been watching us, it’s not that I haven’t wanted to really. All this talk of our potential marriage-“Jon was too scared to say the word, “is scaring her off.” Davos chuckled at this and Jon looked at him grimly, he spoke like he was a teenage boy grumbling that a girl he fancied was uninterested. It wasn’t like this at all.

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you, I don’t think she’s scared of you. I thinks she’s nervous, go to her or else she won’t go to you.” Davos gave him a smile, placing a hard hand on his shoulder. Jon smiled back, Davos was surely right about women he obviously had more experience. Jon had only known Ygritte, he could still see her dead face before him, the blood spilling and on his hands. The first women he had ever loved still haunted his every feeling, the amount of guilt he was overwhelmed with when he craved Sansa instead.

“Go on, go!” Davos chuckled.

Jon had checked over his shoulder that no one had followed him, he braced himself as he prepared to knock on her door. When he knocked there had been no reply, this should have alarmed him. But instead his heart sunk and his shoulders relaxed, where was Sansa? Of course she wouldn’t be in her room by noon, she would be with her ladies in solar or perhaps in the glass gardens. Sansa would never leave Winterfell without telling him, maybe she could be in the godswood where they would often meet. That’s the first place he went to, he was craving to see her auburn locks cascading down her back, the snowflakes landing in her palms and her cheeks flushing from the freeze. But no footsteps of anyone’s existence were there, Jon shook his head to himself. _She wouldn’t have left without telling me._ Jon checked the glass gardens and even the broken tower where Bran had fallen, but not a soul would want to be near that forsaken place. Now Jon was now panicking, there was no sign of her in the castle, he was now demanding her whereabouts of the servants. _Nothing._ Jon would be certain that Brienne would know where she was, he ran to her rooms and thrashed on her door. “Lady Brienne?”Jon called out desperately.

“Your grace?” Brienne wrenched the door open. Jon breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the shade of red he had desired to see, Brienne stood there with her head tilted to the side in confusion. “Where you looking for Lady Sansa?” Brienne asked, Sansa’s head perked up at the sound of her name. Their eyes met for a sweet second and fell away from each other, Sana’s straightened her skirts before wondering out to meet Jon, and he stiffly nodded and grabbed a hold of Sansa’s hand which her eyes widened at. Sansa then sucked in a breath as Jon pulled her through into a side room, completely ignoring Brienne’s glares. To be true, Jon was slightly terrified of Brienne’s wrath, she was said to be a warrior and never beaten. Brienne could kick men to the dust, Jon did not want to be one of those men.

 

“This is very uncourtly,” Sansa sighed, they were now standing in a store room, chest to chest. Their breathing ragged, their lips almost touching and the space between them was completely hard to maintain. “We should not be sneaking around like this, how will we explain this to someone if they walk in?” Sansa demanded, Jon simply ignored the words she was speaking and watched the movements of her lips. “Brienne will know that we are in here.”

“I’ll kill the man who does.” Jon mumbled. “I’ve been desperate to speak to you, I can’t deny, we can’t deny our feelings any longer.”

Sansa’s heart lept, the space between them was growing smaller and the suspense was growing unbearable. “You love me?” Sansa whispered, she wanted to close her eyes because she was far too embarrassed to hear his answer if he did not.

“Yes, damn Sansa let me have you,” Jon groaned, snapping her towards him by her waist. Sansa let out a surprised squeal, her hands clutching on to his face. Jon was exhilarated, he was no longer afraid and he hoped Sansa was neither. Staring into her electric blue eyes, it was evident that fright still remained in them and it loosened his grip on her waist.

“No, not like this.”

“Then marry me?” Jon blurted out. He hadn’t just realised what he just said, only what he was thinking even if it was crazy, he couldn’t hold the anticipation any longer. Let the whole world know that they were hiding in a cupboard, pressed up in intoxication with their senses. They didn’t feel the cold, only the warmth of each other, this was meant to be. Sansa’s face was still and was very hard to read, Jon placed his lips on hers delicately hoping to spark a reaction. “I will never hurt you, I will never control you or force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I promise to love you with every ounce of my fucked up soul.” Jon vowed.

“Jon don’t say things like that about yourself,” Sansa murmured.

“Listen to me, I will protect you with my life.” Jon pleaded, the light from Sansa’s eyes were glowing like sun on snow. “I know we haven’t resolved things with each other and you’ll be marrying a bastard but I can be good to you.”

“Just kiss me Jon Snow,” Sansa demanded, a spark turned into a blaze of flames. They winded up in each other, their kisses grew into long meaningful ones and a mixture of moans and breathing were thrown in. Jon was touching her in all the right places, they were exactly where they wanted. Perhaps, not kissing and touching each other in a store room, but there was fire in their soles and the beat in their blood was synced. Nothing could be more immensely highlighted, but there love and it was beating solely in their being.

After all, _a King is not without his Queen._

“I think we should leave the store room one at a time,” Sansa breathed between kisses, “maybe in a moment.”

“Definitely,” Jon groaned, he had her pinned up against the stone walls and her legs wrapping around his body. There was a sharp knock at the door, they folded into each other’s arms and Jon held a finger to Sansa’s lips, grinning like a teenage boy that was doing that he shouldn’t. _I really shouldn’t, but I will._ “Who is it?” Jon spoke rather irritated, rolling his eyes.

“Your grace, I really think you and Lady Sansa should come out now, Olenna is now leaving Winterfell and shall be walking past these store room right this minute-“

Jon and Sansa had never moved so quickly in all their lives, Brienne stood their disapprovingly and eyed up their attire. Sansa touched her cheeks from all the blushing they were now doing, straightened her skirts. Jon grinned widely, it was all very amusing to him but the look on Brienne’s face made it grow less. The King in the North was now feeling like a boy, the Princess of Winterfell was feeling like a blushing maiden. Brienne shook her head, checking down the corridors. “I’ll take it that was a ‘yes’ to my proposal?” Jon smiled, clutching her hand whilst looking up at the stone ceiling.

“Yes.” Sansa breathed.

It was a eurphoic moment, the pieces of their messed up puzzle were finding their way and reconnecting finally. But if Jon and Sansa thought that their declaration of love and their marriage was going to solve all their building issues they would be doomed. It can never be so simply, it would be severely complicated and twisted. Their union will signify a powerful north, this will threaten the whole of the south. Cersei Lannister will rise up, Queen against Queen against Queen. Only one will win.

 

 

 

 

**Authors note* sorry for yet another late update, please tell me what you think!**

**I would like to do a Q &A soon, so comment any questions you may have! **

**xxx**


	14. "hope"

Chapter 14

 

SANSA

Her fingers had desired to trail around his face, trace the scarlet scars that he would not talk about above his brows and scoring under his eyes. To run her delicate fingers through his messy brunette hair and unfold the messy bun from behind his head. There had been so many words she prayed that she should have said, but there was never enough time. The pace was quickening as her heart flurried every kiss, every touch was circulating her head and the butterflies in her stomach thumped. Jon had admitted his love and vowed that he would do what a husband should, honour his wife and keep her from their enemies. Sansa almost wanted to believe him, but the butterflies suddenly died and faded from any existence. She agreed to marry him far too quickly, she now feared that it would be the worst thing that could happen. Cersei Lannister would hear of her marriage, sending her wrath up North and Cersei wanted a new head to pike on the walls on the Red Keep. Perhaps Sansa wanted to anger her, after all she had thrown to her and spat in her face and bully her into declaring her own family traitors. Cersei smirking whilst Ser Meryn Trant beat her below the Iron Throne on the command of her twisted bastard son, the lords and ladies shaming her body as the clothes from her back were stripped. Ellaria Sand was right, _she shall burn._

Later still, if lady Olenna had been telling her the truth of Daenerys Targaryen intention of marrying Jon, Sansa would have to marry him and give him a son. The north would never be independent, the dragon queen would sink her claws in and manipulate Jon to doing whatever she wanted. Sansa had to be there first, she would marry Jon to save him because there was a part of her conscience telling her _Olenna Tyrell is telling the truth._ Then Sansa’s mind flittered to the subject of her and Jon’s marriage bed, she could feel her mother cursing her name whenever she thought of Jon in that way. On many occasions she had. Catelyn Stark would never allow Sansa and Jon to associate when they were younger, how had their found love for each other risen? Sansa hadn’t thought if she believed in fate, she could hardly still believe in religion. The other matter was that Sansa loved Jon before she had discovered they were cousins, perhaps the Gods were really and presented themselves to finally allow love to overcome these difficulties.

Sansa was staring at the cream laced fabric, feeling the consistency between her fingers, the muffled giggles of happiness in the background brought her crashing down out of her thoughts. Mya Stone and Beth Cassel were laughing as they wrapped themselves in fine lace and whirled out of it, Sansa couldn’t concentrate or keep up with their chatter and had often found herself zoning out of the talk of her wedding. It was in a week’s time she would be married and crowned Queen in the North, Sansa Targaryen. Sansa had disliked this name and was now going to insist they keep her name Stark, Jon wouldn’t deny her of this. Where would the Stark name remain? Bran and Arya had not returned and may be dead, a small tear rolled down her cheek as the pain of thinking that they could be dead was terrifying.

“The dressmakers will be here at any moment, then the engagement party is in the evening-“Mya announced the diary of today. Sansa wanted to sink back in her shoulders of the thought of the engagement party, the whole of the north was terribly excited of their union which would outrage the south and be brought to her many questions of what will happen in the near future. There would be other questions of course such as, how many children will they have? How many sons and daughters? Who would they be more alike, have the Stark qualities or the Targaryen’s? Sansa later thought that why would they talk of the Targaryen’s and Jon like this, the northern lords were just about comfortable knowing that Jon wasn’t all Targaryen. He was Eddard Stark’s son or at least what he brought up to be, he was honourable, kind, easy to love. Nothing like Rhaegar like Sansa thought, in no question would Jon had the tendency of their madness. This would never fall into Sansa’s mind.

“Your grace, aren’t you excited? You still haven’t told us the details of how he proposed,” Beth smiled, curling Sansa’s auburn hair between her fingers. Sansa focused slightly more than she done, looked up at Beth’s hopeful face and gave her a warm gentle smile.

“Well,” Sansa prepared herself, Mya and Beth quickly taking the seats next to her. “As you may know that as soon as Jon’s parentage was revealed before court that there was talk of our marriage,” Sansa awkwardly found a way to phrase what she was going to tell them. Mya Stone and Beth Cassel’s eyes never left her as they attentively encouraged her to carry on with her story, their hands close to chest and smiling brightly. “We hadn’t spoken to each other…in a short while, he came and met me and then proposed-“ _Before all that he basically told me how much he wanted to have me in every way, I agreed to marrying him then sharing the most passionate and raunchy kiss a cupboard at Winterfell has ever seen. Of course then shortly being interrupted by Lady Brienne whom looked as though she could have taken Jon down in one blow._

“Is that it?” Mya frowned. “Didn’t you two share a rather lovely kiss?” Mya rose an eyebrow, giggling.

“Lady Mya! Lady Sansa has only just found out that his grace isn’t her brother!” Beth protested. Beth quickly shut her mouth before saying anymore, the room had suddenly grown quiet with tension. Mya had stopped fiddling with her hair to take a sip of her tea on the side table, Sansa was so speechless that she could feel so much guilt because she was in love with her own brother before she knew he was her cousin. Also that Beth would find her and Jon disgusting if she ever knew that they shared intimacy before they knew of Jon’s parentage. “Your grace, I-I shouldn’t have said that I’m sorry.” Beth mumbled, stammering.

Sansa had thought she would have started crying if she hadn’t of held her hand and quietly replied, “Please, it’s fine.” The two girls wouldn’t understand Sansa and Jon’s relationship, they were posed with so many problems of sharing the same father to not sharing one at all. To flinging themselves into each other’s arm when they were together at Castle Black, the promise of standing together and facing the wrath of war. Jon vowing to protect her and promising that Ramsay Bolton will never touch her again, holding hand in hand when they put their youngest brother to rest. Just holding her against him in the freezing cold and kissing her lips to make her know that he can make her feel alive again. She only hoped that she made him feel the same things. Sansa was so deeply infused with Jon it made every cell in her body scream silently, she was scared to be away from him but when she was near she was too nervous. This was how love was for Sansa, although frightened of what it would mean for her heart, she was going to take it because it was what she deserved. The people in the world that could attempt to understand or emphasise is Cersei and Jaime Lannister, Aegon the Conqueror and his sister Queen Rhaenys Targaryen. Sansa didn’t not want to tell her ladies this, of course she trusted them but it was still nibbling away at her what they may think of her afterwards.

 

The dressmakers had arrived like Mya had promised shortly after the tension was broken of what Beth had said, they knocked on the door and came flooding into Sansa’s solar. They had fussed and fussed, Sansa had insisted on staying in her small clothes and corset. Lace, velvet, and linen was thrown over her body and tightened to the pulp. Creams, blues and even hints of red were being tried for a certain look for her dress, then it came to the veil. The veil was tricky situation because the dressmakers thought she looked best with the matching veil as Sansa had to show that she was still a virgin to the North, she didn’t think it would make any different people still talked. Sansa thought that designing her wedding dress would be one of the most exciting prospects of a wedding when she was younger, but now at sixteen years of age this was now her third time and she prayed so hurtfully that it would be her last. That Jon would stay as her husband until their very last days.

The fireplace was burning hotter than ever, she held her hands up in surrender of them fussing around with her dress and took a long glance in the clear mirror. The red of her hair had caught the sun, the dress was like a kiss from the snow, the fabric hung tightly to her chest and waist. The skirts cascaded in a mixture of icy lace and dark violet tones, here Sansa imagined herself holding a bouquet of wild winter roses, then Jon Targaryen standing behind her. His arms wrapped around her waist, his long dark curls grazing the back of her neck and two golden glorified crowns atop of their heads. The radiance shining through, the sun exposed on their faces-

“What do you think, your grace?” Mya grinned, snapping Sansa out of her dreamy vision.

“It’s perfect.” This was certainly true, her smile was gleaming and her posture was of a Queen’s. Sansa Stark Queen in the North was born to wear this dress, the dressmakers started to tear up as their display of beautiful designs were swiftly brought together to make this gorgeous wedding gown. “Thank-you, all of you, this is beautiful. I could never dream of a more elegant dress.” The dressmakers soon shuffled out of the room and left Sansa, Mya and Beth holding hands and watching each other in the mirror.

“Do you think Jon will like it?” Sansa asked, hesitantly.

“Of course he will,” They both said in unison and then laughed.

“I wonder what my lady mother will think of me now,” Sansa sighed, turning away from the mirror not wanting her ladies to see her cry any more than they had before. Sansa was to be there Queen, she should never crumble but she was terrified to be true. All of this could be snatched away from her, Sansa had to treasure these fine moments and stop wasting her tears on the past.

“My lady, she would be proud and Lord Eddard too. They are all looking over us and leading us the way of hope and happiness. You shall find your happiness, Lady Stark, you are home.” Beth Cassel trailed off, the sweet girl was so innocent with her words. Sansa knew that she would be most likely be remembering her father, knowing that Jory Cassel was watching over her with Sansa’s father. This was when it felt like a blow to the stomach for Sansa, she would feel her mother’s slender fingers through her hair and whispering to her wonderful things about the world and about honourable knights. Neither would she hear her father’s booming laugh echoing down the walls on Winterfell, his kind words and his firm and loving embrace. No Robb poking fun and jokes with her, picking her up when she fell over or off her horse and certainly no shield of protection from all the nastiness in the world. There would be no pitta patter of Rickon’s feet down the corridors or his giggles when Jon would toss him in the air, no Bran to warm her heart with his smiles and his climbing tricks. And Arya, where was Arya? If not flicking food at her across the table or managing to have an argument over ridiculous subjects. They would find each other again and put things right, they were bound by blood and they will look after one another, replace all those bad memories with the new and loving ones. Jon was her hope, the only thing that she still felt there was a sign of living again, a man who could love her eternally and even death couldn’t come between them. They were also bound by blood, by soul and by fortune.

 

Like Eddard Stark had promised her, _when you’re old enough, I’ll make you a match with someone who’s worthy of you, someone who’s brave, gentle and strong._

 

 

 

**Authors note***

**I bet you weren’t expecting another update from me till ages! I wanted to surprise y’all, so enjoy and please let me know what you think down in the comments it means so so much to me! And any questions you may have, ask away! Thank-you**

**x**


	15. "Unburden me"

**Chapter 15**

JON

 

_“I liked to see you in a silk dress,” Jon growled softly in the wildling kissed by fire’ ears, hissing at her forcing her to tense by Jon’s manly and domineering presence. Ygritte laughed rather sweetly than Jon had thought she ever could, then swung her head forward to face Jon._

_“Would you?” Ygritte questioned, raising her light brow as if she was trying to suss Jon out and his visions of him seeing her in a tight, revealing and empowering silk dress._

_“So I could tear it off you, “Jon groaned, grabbing her lustfully by the waist, forcing her to be bound to him._

_“Well if you rip my pretty silk dress, I’ll blacken your eye.”_

It _was_ a beautiful dream. After all, that was exactly what it was a dream that Jon would never see or feel again. Jon would never feel the love he bore for Ygritte, nor the arrows almost splintering into his heart. There were never any fresh wounds, only the old which reopened and sealed once the pain grew too much comprehend. Jon had awoken from his sleep rather abruptly, he had imaged Sansa dead in his arms as fire was burning so brightly his face drew sweat. He had jumped from his bed and went to grab a white shirt with his hard tunic and belt with long claw attached, he stared down at his stomach at the angry pink slashes of his dead brother’s daggers. Jon was soon thankfully distracted by the horrors of his nightmares by the winter bells tolling and Stark soldiers marching around the courtyard, with horses cantering in and out of its walls. He ran down the steps as he saw a shade of ragged ginger hair brawling with a soldier in the middle of the yard, it was Tormund and a small bald soldier having it out with each other.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jon demanded roughly, placing himself in between the brawling strong men. Jon was growing tired of the conflict between the wildlings and the north men, how long would it be before they finally tolerated each other? The bald man gritted his teeth at Tormund before standing down in front of his King, he murmured something in respect to Jon and later spat on the ground his eyes blaring darkly at Tormund. “Tormund, make some use of yourself help me with my wedding plans.”

The people of Winterfell were all standing round as if they were waiting for something else to happen, the women immediately started to gossip as they stuffed their linens into their baskets. The soldiers carried on with their patrols, the horses kept on galloping but the air was still unfortunately thick with hostility. It was going to be awhile until it would lift, if it was ever going to. Jon hoped it would, he had died for this once before and wasn’t prepared to fail again. There was far more at stake than two brawling men of different cultures, the future of the north, the battle of the long night which was slowly encircling them every inch of snow that fell. Then the threats of the south and the protection of his family, Jon wanted to be angry at the men who did not know what will happen when the Night King crosses the wall, they were being ignorant and oblivious, they hadn’t seen what Jon had. He could still see a shell of ice of a man-creature with his electric eyes illuminating a deadly cold spell staring over the sees as Jon’s boat floated away from the shores of Hardhome. They didn’t understand, no one did. The Night King knew Jon’s face, like Jon knew his and was marked in his memory. If the wall should fall, two brawling men could not save themselves nor could anyone.

 

“So you’re marrying your sister,” Tormund acknowledged, slumping down in an oak chair in the great hall whilst all the maid and servants were placing up decorations for the evening’s engagement party. Jon scowled at Tormund, and he too fell back into a chair and leaned over to chuck another piece of wood into the fire. “So she’s not your sister, cousin then.”

“Yes, I’m marrying Sansa.” Jon breathed.

“Her hair’s like Ygritte’s.” Tormund said simply, slamming his feet on the table. It made the shock of what he had just said even more terrifying to Jon, the dream and now hearing her name out loud for the first time in over a year made everything seem so clouded by doubt and grief. Jon truly did not want to think of her, the amount of regret his felt for her loss of her life would always be cursed to him and the guilt was tiring as he was torturing himself every day because of it.

“No it’s different,” Jon finalised, hoping it would be clear in his voice that he did not wish to speak of her again. But her words would forever ring in his head, _you know nothing Jon Snow._ Jon did know now, he understood and would forever thank her in all the ways she showed him that he was wrong, it helped him now. Jon would not have been the same way if he hadn’t of met the kissed by fire wildling girl, by after death he had changed. The memories of her still continued to shine through, as much as Jon wanted to no longer dream of her or remember her. Jon no longer loved the feisty wildling girl, he loved Sansa and it was different and he would be damned if he would ever compare the two.

“And do you fancy her?” Tormund asked, laughing.

“Of course I do.” Jon said, his hands almost flying up in the air. He stood from the table and poured himself a goblet of ale.

“Aye, many of the men fancy her.” Tormund teased Jon to see if it would get his back up with jealously.

“Tell the men to fuck off,” Jon replied, bluntly and threw back the ale. Jon’s thoughts wondered to Sansa, what she was doing, how she was doing since it was difficult to see her because so many people were always watching by, there was going to be little privacy leading up to the spectacular event no one would stop talking about.

The talk wasn’t always nice, the minority of north spat on the idea of their marriage, _incest and sinful lust_ he had heard that talk. Of course not everyone believed he was the son of the dragon, or of the fair blue winter maiden of Winterfell. Jon was the resurrected bastard son of Eddard Stark, his name and presence threatened the Kingdom. There was other talk, tales and lies. Some had believed that the bastard had seduced the perfectly innocent Lady Sansa, forced himself upon her and usurped the crown meant for her head. It made Jon feel sick, their love for each other was never of these things, it wasn’t forced or planned or to be spat upon. Lust didn’t drive Jon, perhaps it had something to do with it, Jon didn’t believe in that though. It was simply a complicated and desirable mutual attraction, love and impulse to connect.

“Do you still think of her?” Tormund asked, leaning forward on the table.

“I don’t want to talk about…” _Ygritte,_ he could barely force himself to say her name in his head, never mind out loud. He could still feel the wrought iron stabbing pain in his heart from the moment he felt about her touch, voice, memories, and mention of her name.

“Well, I’ve been watching a strong lovely woman around these walls of this stone house.” Tormund mused, snapping the tension and relieving Jon.

“Oh who that might be?” Jon chuckled, raising an eyebrow and looked over to where Tormund had just tilted his head towards.

There Brienne of Tarth stood, all her armour and suspicious and cautious body language, constantly eyeing up any source of danger which entered her path. Grasping the hilt of her long sword, her irises flickered over to Tormund’s face and her face fell blankly and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Jon forced himself to whip back around, chuckling loudly into his mug of ale and swinging back so more of the bold tasting liquid. The light of the doorway blocked from view as she sauntered past, stopping at the end of the stairwell the most graceful being climbed down the steps to greet her without Jon’s knowledge.

“I don’t believe she’s interested,” Jon laughed, placing down the cup and then seeing Tormund’s fuming and half embarrassed eyes.

“Jon?” The voice of Sansa’s voice called, immediately Jon had straightened up and gone to her. Half of her auburn gleaming locks plaited in two and fixed round her head like a band, whilst her remaining long hair was flowing past her shoulders. Sansa Stark was a vision of winter, the most beautiful, strong and regal. Her presence was never intimidating for Jon, she was to be his Queen but talk of her beauty was spoken many thousands of leagues from Winterfell and her name was for those to fear. Jon’s eyes quickly brightened, a smile spread on his brooding face as he eyed her radiance head to toe.

“Sansa,” Jon breathed, the sides of her lips lifting as he spoke so carefully, her name.

“I was wondering if you could walk with me, we have much to discuss.” Sansa proposed, flickering her bold blue eyes between the two men, hinting that she dearly wanted to speak to him alone.

“Ah yes of course, Tormund please excuse me for a while,” Jon muttered to Tormund, his gaze never lifting from his beautiful bride to be. She had him exactly where he stood, all with her eyes and that was where he would remain. Cultivated, under intimacy, even whilst they stood with so many people of Winterfell around them, each other was all they could see. Oblivion would be the death of them, and at the time of war, uncertainty was alive and flying. They would be falling and never hitting the full impact, the winter freeze would come and so would their summer hearts.

Sansa had taken his arm, they fled through the back door of the Great Hall where many servants were rushing around with decorations, plates and candles. The stone walls radiating enough heat to keep them warm as they passed through the old corridors, then after finding their way to the exit onto the grounds were the high broken tower was crumbling to the frozen muddy yard. They had made sure that no one had followed them to this place, it was almost sacred and private land. They didn’t need to be private, but in a place where secrets were never sealed, there had to be some in their lives. Many were loyal, but some were to be suspected of. Dornish men still held much of the castle, Jon didn’t trust foreigners, and the Sand Snakes were deliberately calm but when he would least expect they would snipe. However, Sansa had chosen this place to come of all places, it didn’t seem to make sense in Jon’s head why they had come here. The broken tower was decaying into a heap of old bloodied stone, where Bran had been pushed and deprived of he’s mobility. The standing of the broken tower was a constant reminder, Jon would have to certainly have it knocked to the dust.

“Follow me,” Sansa whispered, placing a kiss on Jon’s cheek and led him up the curling stone steps to the highest point of the tower to the carving of the window sill. Sansa’s urgency candle placed, the wick firmly snubbed out as it once was when she realised no aid was coming to rescue her those months ago. Jon had little knowledge of how she and Theon Greyjoy escaped Winterfell of its hellish clutches, perhaps this was a place of answers and a place of where it all started.

“Why are we up here?” Jon asked, leaning subconsciously against the loose window sill ledge, attempting to decode her expression on her pale face.

“I don’t believe I have been entirely honest with you,” Sansa began, staring awkwardly at her feet and kicked away at some old ingrowing braches that had crept into the walls of the broken tower. Jon narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, it caused his heart to stammer with anxiety, and he bit down on his lip in hope to curb his words from scattering out frantically from his mouth. “There have been some things which I haven’t told you, things which I can’t hide from you.”

“Out with it then Sansa,” Jon almost spat, he wasn’t going to allow the future to be contaminated with lies upon lies. If Jon is to be told the truth, he wants it now.

“I opened the scroll which contained the clarification of your birth, after I then plotted with my ladies to call Howland Reed to court with the Sand Snakes.” Sansa breathed, like it was a heavy burden lifted from her chest. Why would Sansa go to the Sand Snakes for help? Why would she go behind his back to deepen his wounds? Jon took a deep breath, cramming his anger and frustration down his throat, he wouldn’t be able to go near her again if he had let her see that side of him. “I need you to understand that I had to do this so that we could be certain for our future together, but I told you the truth instead. I couldn’t do that to you, Ellaria Sand was threatening me,”

“With what?” Jon demanded, interrupting her explanations.

“She told me that I had to persuade you to not fight for the Iron Throne yourself, because Daenerys Targaryen will kill you and never let us be independent,” Sansa’s words were flowing, the truth was unveiling. “But none of that matters now! She wants you to marry her, she was never going to let the North be independent!” Sansa cried, trying to not look away at Jon and making sure that he understood every word that she said.

“What does this mean?”

“Daenerys Targaryen ruler of the seven kingdoms, doesn’t make her Queen when she’s only ruling six, diminishing her power. We can’t let her become Queen.” Sansa announced, the weight of her words cast a dark shadow upon his shoulders. Jon knew there was only one thing he could do to stop this from happening, he had to marry Sansa quickly and have a child quickly. Time was already running out, there was none to hold big feasts and grand parties, no money could be taken out to afford such lavish occasions. A time for the King in the North to take charge now, celebrations to happen in the summer. There had to be a balancing of power, it was coming and it was happening now.

“I love you Sansa, I needed you to know that. Never hide anything from me again, I can’t bear anymore lies.”

Sweet summer loving was easy whilst the sun still beamed from the trees of Winterfell, now those same trees held dark, contagious love which was consuming and jeopardising both of their lives. Winter was going to send summer fools to Essos and far, whilst the Starks would remain and all those who would never back down. As no heat radiated through these walls of the broken tower, the ghosts of the passed loomed around chilling their necks. Jon and Sansa fled back to the warmth of Winterfell, holding the plan in their minds of determination and conquest.

 

_The pain will always cut us deep, but the knife binds our blood which shall warmth the freeze and shatter our burdens._

 

***Authors note**

**Merry Christmas! I hope y'all having a fabulous day! Sorry I haven't updated in what seems like forever, I hope you enjoy this chapter. My New Year's resolution is to update regularly again! Thank-you for reading!**

**x**

 


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